The Tomorrow That Never Came
by dammitharad
Summary: Many died on the barricade that night, but now they are reunited in the afterlife. What will become of them? Eventual E/É.
1. arrival

**1 **

Eponine woke up.

She didn't know where she was, but she knew what had happened to her. She could still feel the sensation of rain falling softly against her skin. She could feel Marius' arms around her. She could feel the impact of the ball that tore through the bones and tendons in her hand and then through her torso. She could feel the wet stickiness of the blood on her uninjured hand, then the heaviness of her limbs, a general feeling of lethargy sweeping over her body as it struggled to keep on breathing. She could hear the sounds of battle around her, Marius' words, and the urge to close her eyes that she just could not fight. The fear that bubbled in her chest when she saw the gun trained on Marius…

Yes, she could feel all of that, feel it as some mad jumble that made little sense but drew her to one conclusion – she had been gravely injured at the barricades and assumed, because she was lying down, she must be receiving treatment for her wounds in some kind of hospital.

But then she realised, as she lay there on her back, she was staring up at a white sky, and she could hear people moving around her. Maybe she was still at the barricade. Maybe the battle was over, because she could no longer hear gunfire or shouting or people screaming as they died. And there was no pain, most importantly. No pain at all.

She sat up, something she found surprisingly easy to do. She frowned. This…This was not the scene she remembered from before she fell unconscious. There were more people and the barricade before her was _huge_, towering too high, and they weren't in front of that little café the boys liked to frequent, and there were more flags, and…

"Where am I?" she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

It seemed that most of the people around her was having the same thought, even the ones that were wandering around, staring in amazement. She recognised some of them – they were students, from the barricade.

To her horror, she noticed something terrible about them. They were all covered in blood and had gaping wounds on their bodies. She looked down at herself. The man's outfit she had worn as a disguise on the barricade was sodden with blood and her _hand_…She retched as she saw the mess that was her hand.

"Don't worry, you get used to it," an amused voice said from somewhere to her left.

She whipped her head around to look. A man stood over her. There was an ugly slash across his throat – it was not bloody, but that was somehow worse, as the skin around it was an odd purple colour and stood out against his pale skin. She did not recognise him, though, unlike some of the others that were milling around her.

"Where am I?" she asked.

The man chuckled. "Poor girl. I forgot how confused the new ones tend to be! I only came to have a look because so many were dying at once. It's quite a novelty…"

"D-d-d-dying?" Eponine whispered.

"Yes, girl," the man said. "I'm happy to inform you that you're _dead_."

XXX

Eponine wasn't sure how long she sat there, trying to let the man's words sink in. It wasn't going very well. How could she be dead, if she was breathing? How could she be dead if she could still feel, still see things, still remember?

Yes, she wasn't in a place she recognised and a lot of the people around her were terribly injured, but…It was not possible for her to be dead and alive all at the same time, was it?

She finally realised that the man had wandered off, clearly bored by what he had come across. The people around Eponine that had once been scurrying around, examining their surroundings, seemed to have given up, and were sat with each other, talking in low voices, confusion evident on their faces.

Eponine drew her legs up so that her knees were against her chest, and then she wrapped her arms around her leg. She couldn't avoid looking at her mangled hand, and even though it sent a wave of nausea over her it didn't make her actually retch this time.

One of the men glanced over at her. She had seen him around a few times, as she accompanied Marius to the Café Musain; he was fair-haired, brown eyed, and she thought his name might be Guillaume. They had spoken twice – once because he barged into her by accident, and the second because she had wanted to know where Marius was.

He was the only face she could give a name, so when he looked at her, she deliberately caught his eye. She waved, with her good hand, in an attempt not to shock him.

But then his head completely turned to face her and she nearly shrieked. The other side of his head was covered in blood and there was a gaping hole in his temple.

Guillaume got to his feet and made his way over to her. She noticed other wounds on him now; his white shirt was splattered with blood, the cotton torn open and revealing gashes on his chest and abdomen.

"Your name is Eponine, yes?" he said.

She nodded. "Yes, _monsieur_," she said.

"Do you know what is going on?" he asked her, crouching down.

Feeling self-conscious, Eponine slid her injured hand underneath her thighs. "No, _monsieur_," she said. "I'm very confused. I spoke to a man earlier but…"

"But?" Guillaume prompted.

"Well, what he said made very little sense," she admitted. "He said I was dead."

Guillaume patted the side of his head that was not torn apart. "Dead," he murmured. "It doesn't make sense, does it?"

She shook her head.

"But I look at that gunshot wound you have, _mademoiselle_, and I find it hard to believe you could be alive," he continued.

Eponine wondered whether any of his friends had pointed out the ghastly wound on his head, and came to the conclusion that they couldn't have. So instead of commenting on it, she shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I don't know where I am, and I don't know what's going on. I wish I did…"

Guillaume looked at her for a few long, long moments. Then he sighed. "So do I, _mademoiselle_," he said. "So do I…"

XXX

Night fell. It was actually rather eerie; the sky went very dark, but it was tinged around the edges with purples, oranges and some yellows, and there were no stars at all.

After her conversation with Guillaume, Eponine had been invited to sit with them. She listened to their chatter – all they talked about was what was going on, so she listened to a variety of different theories. No one seemed very keen on the idea that they were all dead, but Eponine didn't blame them for that; she wasn't fond of the idea herself.

It must have been dark for a couple of hours when a gaggle of people scaled the huge barricade and began to crowd around them. They didn't reveal much. One of them said he'd been there for over twenty years, by his reckoning, and another felt the need to point of Guillaume's wound, which seemed to shock Guillaume into silence.

Then they ambled off, in the opposite direction, wishing them all good luck.

Eponine was secretly grateful for this. She thought they may need all the luck they could get.


	2. waiting

**2**

Morning came much slower than night did. The sky was not the blank white it had been the day before, when Eponine had opened her eyes, but there were some smudges of pink amongst ivory. She watched the world get lighter with weary eyes, as she hadn't been able to sleep last night. No one had.

She was tired, but there was some kind of energy running through her bones. Anticipation, she suspected; the knowledge that something big was about to happen.

A few hours after morning had dawned in this strange place, there was an odd rumbling that shook the ground on which Eponine was sat. Her vision blurred, and she began to blink repeatedly. Her vision cleared and then she could see a small shape lying a few feet away. A little boy with a mop of hair, very familiar hair.

He sat up, and Eponine scrambled to her feet. "Gavroche!" She ran over to her younger brother, feeling more than a little frantic. There was blood on his scruffy, dirty clothes, on his stomach, his shoulder, his neck.

"Gavroche, you're hurt," she said, wanting to put her hands on him but not wanting to touch his injuries.

"'Ponine?" Confusion was written all over Gavroche's face. "But…You're dead."

She shook her head. "Don't be silly," she said. "What happened to you? I told you to get away from the barricades –"

"They were shooting at me," Gavroche said, gazing around. "I wasn't scared, though, 'Ponine."

Eponine felt a rush of anger at the idea of the soldiers taking shots at her little brother. He had been the only family she had that she actually loved, even if they didn't see each other very often, and as a result couldn't help but feel protective over him. "If I get my hands on them…" she muttered under her breath.

"Where are we?" Gavroche pushed her away from him.

"I don't know," Eponine said. "No one does. We all woke up here yesterday…There are other people here, but…"

"It's an odd place," Gavroche observed, clambering to his feet. "Do you reckon we're in Paris still?"

Eponine shrugged. "I don't know. Like I said, none of us do…It's…It's a complete mystery. Tell me, Gavroche, do your wounds hurt?"

He glanced down at his front and plucked at his clothes with one hand. "No," he said. "Do yours?" She shook her head.

"It gets even more odd by the minute," she said. "Come on, everyone's sitting over here…"

She tried to take Gavroche by the hand, but he pulled away before she could get a proper grip. He began to walk away from her.

"Where are you going?" she said, following.

"To have a look around," he said.

"Everyone's already looked," she said, feeling a little exasperated. "Come and sit down –"

"Has anyone climbed the barricade?" Gavroche demanded, staring up at the colossal structure.

"Only some people last night," she said. "Not any of us."

"So there could be something past it," Gavroche said. He gave her a broad grin and before she could stop him, he began to clamber up the barricade, over the broken furniture and doors and carriages.

"Gavroche!" she shouted. "Get down!"

"No," he said, over his shoulder.

She put her hand on the nearest item to her, a chair, and used it to pull herself up. The structure _felt _solid beneath her feet, but her brain screamed at her it was unstable. She'd felt like this when she climbed the barricade that one time to save Marius…

And just like that, the memory swept into her head again and she went very still. Gavroche was scaling the wall like a little cat climbing a tree, but she just clung there, holding on to a table leg. Panic was rising as she could feel the gun pressing against her palm.

Her legs began to work again, but this time, they were going backwards and she was stumbling off the barricade and onto the ground. Gavroche was still climbing, unaware of his sister's plight.

"Gavroche!" she shouted again. "Please, just come back down!"

For she did not want him to reach the top of the barricade; who knew what was waiting on the other side?

XXX

But then he was gone, over the top and out of sight, and Eponine felt like she'd lost him.

She knew that this was a dramatic conclusion to come to, but given how she'd been feeling over the last hours – in this completely alien place, with only one person she knew by name – she thought it was a fair excuse. On one hand, she'd been horrified to see her little brother appear, especially in that gory state, but deep down she'd just been happy to see someone she actually _knew_. Someone that cared about her.

Before she could worry over her little brother anymore, however, the earth began to rumble again. This time, when her vision blurred, she did not blink half as much. Part of her had known to expect the limp forms lying nearby.

This time was different, however. They began to appear in rapid succession, not all at once. The other difference was she knew a lot more of them by name, and had actually spoken to them on a fair few occasions. They were more students, students from the barricade.

She stood there and watched them come to, watched them stare around themselves in confusion. It didn't take long for the students she had spent the night with to mingle and the conversation of what on earth was going on to begin.

Cautiously, she stepped forward to speak to the one she recognised the most. "_Monsieur_ Prouvaire?" she said.

The poet turned at the sound of his name. "Eponine?" he said. "What's going on?"

It did not faze her as much to see the blood and wounds on Prouvaire's body, and she was glad for that.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she said, shrugging one shoulder.

The rumbling came again. Three more people – and again, she knew them all – Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Joly.

Prouvaire rushed away from her to his friends. She ran her eyes over all the faces present. She knew them all well enough to know that some people were missing. Marius wasn't here, and that was bothering her the most. She wanted to be _with _him, and his presence would comfort her a lot…

When the rolling, thunderous noise happened once more she barely noticed it. Two more bodies. She felt selfish in hoping that one of them was Marius, but was dismayed when that was not the case. Still, she knew both of them – Grantaire, the drunk, and Enjolras, the leader of Les Amis de l'ABC.

The people crowded the pair of them, but Eponine didn't want to. Instead, she backed up so that her back was pressed against the huge barricade.

She waited, as the hubbub died down and the students let each other gain their breathing space. She could hear the conversations from where she stood, about what was happening, where they were…She was sick of hearing those questions.

So instead of listening, she waited, waited to see if anyone else would appear. They did; a few more students she knew by face but not by name.

Then she continued to wait. Night fell. Morning came. And Eponine's hope of Marius joining them in this bizarre place disappeared with the sunrise.


	3. equals

**3**

Eponine sat huddled with her back resting against the barricade. She had her chin resting on her knees, and her arms wrapped loosely around her legs, her fingers playing with the laces on her boots.

Their conversations faded into the background and before she knew it, there was silence. It took a few minutes for her to realise just how quiet it was around her.

She looked up. Sure enough, she was alone; none of the students were there to be seen. She shook her head, and turned her head so her cheek rested against her knees. She let her eyes close.

All of a sudden, she heard muttering. Her eyes shot open. Years of sleeping in dangerous places had taught her to be wary of even the slightest noise. She could not see anyone, and yet, the muttering persisted.

Slowly, she got to her feet. She gazed up at the barricade, wondering if the murmuring noises she could hear came from beyond it; but she had not heard them before now. She listened carefully, pinpointing what direction the noise came from. Then she padded towards it.

It got louder, until she could make out actual words.

_"He will live – but his wounds will take a long time to heal properly…You will just have to be patient…"_

_"I cannot thank you enough…"_

Eponine slowly walked along the barricade until she reached where the voices grew the loudest. She looked straight ahead. She gasped, more in amazement than anything else, when she found the source of the noise. The window of one of the carriages that made up part of the barricade was – well, it looked to her like a looking-glass, only she could not see herself but a different scene. An old man she recognised, and a younger one she did not, stood over a bed and then inside the bed was…

She gasped again, and reached out to touch the man lying in the bed. "Marius," she whispered, as her fingertips came into contact with the cool, smooth surface of the window.

Marius looked pale and sweaty, and he was thrashing in his bed, tangled up in the sheets. She said his name again, this time a bit louder, and placed her entire palm against the window.

_"He is very lucky, _monsieur_. No one else from the barricades survived – they're all dead. Horrible business. Do you know, I heard there was a child found amongst the dead? Just a boy…And a woman, too! What business did they have in a place like that?"_

Eponine's hand dropped from the window like she had been burned.

_No one else from the barricade survived_.

_They're all dead_.

_He is very lucky_.

She touched her face with her hand, as she adjusted to the meaning of these words. And when she took her hand away again, the window of the carriage was just that – a window – and she could kind of make out her own grimy reflection staring back at her.

XXX

After another few minutes or so, she gave up on her contemplation of the scene she had witnessed and resolved to search this strange land herself. Worrying over the man's words could be done later, when she had settled down somewhere for the night.

But for now, she would explore and see what she could not find. She pushed away any feelings of hurt that the men from the barricade had just left her there. After all, she did not _need _them; she had spent the majority of her life fending for herself, so this situation was no different.

Eponine quickly realised that these streets were very different to the ones she knew in Paris. The roads were impossibly narrow, more like alleyways than anything else, and the buildings were ridiculously tall, with more windows and doors than she could count and stairs leading everywhere. There were lots of people about, but that's all they were doing – just being _about_. There was very little movement. It was as if these people had absolutely nothing to do with their time.

They all watched Eponine as she wandered. Some of these people unnerved her more than others. Some were friendly, most were indifferent, but some were skulking in the shadows and reminded her too much of her family.

Eventually, she turned down one more street and found it opened out onto a square. There were a lot of people on this square, and her heart fell when she recognised the uniform of the National Guard. To her horror, they all had bloody uniforms and had gaping wounds and carried weapons in their hands and she had a horrible feeling they had died helping to capture the barricade.

She turned around, hoping that they hadn't seen her. But they had.

"Hey, you!" one of them shouted.

Eponine felt her body stiffen. She looked over her shoulder. One of the men, a little younger than the rest, was coming towards her.

"I recognise you," he said. "You're one of the scum from the barricade!"

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't speak. Instead, she tried to run; but his hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her backwards into his body. "Of course, you looked like a boy," he said, "But I recognise that coat and that face – you stopped me from shooting that bastard who was going to blow up the barricade –"

Eponine spat in his face and used his surprise to wrench her arm out of his grip. "Good," she said, spinning on her heel and trying to dash away again.

But this time, it was not the soldier who stopped her, but the man she had run into. Hands reached out to stop her from stumbling, and she looked into the familiar face of Combeferre. "_Mademoiselle_?" he said, looking surprised – and then a bit stunned when he looked over her head.

"Let me past," Eponine hissed, but he didn't let go of her. Instead, he shoved her behind him.

He was not alone; she saw Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, and a man named Bahorel, crowding the narrow street.

"We do not want any trouble," Combeferre said to the men in a smooth voice. Eponine glanced past him towards the soldiers; her stomach sank when she realised the majority of them were carrying weapons.

"We're just doing our duty, _monsieur_," the one who had manhandled Eponine said. "This girl was on the barricades."

Combeferre shook his head. "Look around you," he said. "I don't think your duty matters much here. If you had noticed, we're not in Paris anymore. And this girl is none of your concern; she's going to come with us."

Courfeyrac, who was stood beside Eponine, was staring at the huddle of soldiers with narrowed eyes. "You're all from the barricade?" he said, stopping one of the soldiers from speaking. "Yes, I recognise a few of you," he said, and Eponine saw the flash of anger in his eyes. "Some of you are the cowards that shot little Gavroche!"

One of the soldiers laughed. "That cocky little shit deserved it," he barked.

Eponine shoved Combeferre out of the way; since he had not been expecting it, he moved quite easily. "That was my brother," she said, hating how shrill her voice sounded.

"That makes a lot of sense," the soldier who had grabbed her sneered. "You know, his death was a lot more satisfying than yours. It took three shots –"

She had flung herself at him before she really knew what was going on, the pent up frustration from the past few days catching up on her. What she did not see, however, was the dagger gripped in one of his fists.

She felt the impact of the blade on the lower part of her abdomen, felt it slicing through her shirt and through the flesh and muscles. The man shoved her away, taking the knife with her. Surprise hummed through her body.

It was not surprise for the fact he'd just stabbed her, however. It was surprise for the fact it did not hurt. She touched the part where she had been stabbed; it felt like she'd been poked, very hard. There was a hole in her shirt where the knife had penetrated, and the wound underneath that hole was not bleeding.

To her amazement, the hole in her flesh began to knit together rapidly. She stared at the man who had stabbed her. He was staring at the dagger in his hands in confusion, probably because it was clean and bloodless.

Eponine let out a breath she had not realised she had been holding.

Before anything else could happen, a little figure skipped into the square. It was Gavroche, although she almost didn't recognise him; his hair was clean, cropped short, and he was wearing different clothes, clean ones. The dirt was gone from his face and his nails had obviously been scrubbed. It was like looking at what _could _have been, if Gavroche had not been a street urchin.

But she knew it was him because of the gleeful look on his face and it was confirmed when he opened his mouth. "See," he said. "Everyone's equal when their dead. Those weapons won't do you no good round here!"

Eponine reached out and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him backwards. "Shut up, Gavroche," she hissed, pulling him out of the square. He wriggled, trying to force her to let go of him. She elbowed her way past Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire and Bahorel and dragged Gavroche down the street.

"Let go of me!" he whined.

"Where have you been?" she said, dropping her hands onto his shoulders and holding him there so he could not move out of her line of vision. "I worried about you, Gavroche. You can't just go running off by yourself!"

"Says you," he scoffed. "You ran off and look where that got you – with those men –"

"That's different," she said.

"I don't see how," Gavroche said. "Because it's you, I suppose? If you hadn't noticed, 'Ponine, there's nothing anyone can do to hurt each other here. Look!"

He dug his nails into the uninjured hand resting on his shoulder, and gouged. The flesh underneath his nails tore, but no blood bloomed, and it didn't hurt; she could feel the pressure, but it was not painful.

"Just – don't run off like that again," Eponine said. "This place is weird, and it's unfamiliar, and I don't like it. I don't like the idea of you being on your own."

"I wasn't on my own." Gavroche gestured down at himself, at his clean clothes. "I found somewhere." His eyes glittered mischievously.

"Gavroche!" Courfeyrac came hurrying down the street. He hugged the little boy tightly. "Are you okay?"

"Courf, I'm fine," Gavroche said, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I was just telling 'Ponine –"

Courfeyrac released Gavroche and glanced at her. His friends were walking towards them now, and they were all staring at her. She took a step backwards, disliking their scrutiny.

"What?" she snapped.

"We're very sorry, _mademoiselle_," Prouvaire said. "We were all so – I'm not sure excited is the word – whatever it was – it just slipped our minds to ask you to come with us. We've all split up, you see, to try and find out what's going on…"

"It's quite simple," Eponine muttered. "We're dead. We all died."

Silence met her words.

"We were hoping…" Combeferre trailed off. "How is it that you know, _mademoiselle_?"

"It doesn't take a genius to work it out," she said. "And – I saw something. Heard something, more like. The barricade fell, we all died. Apart from Marius, actually. He's receiving treatment somewhere posh, from what I saw." She shrugged.

"She's right," Gavroche said, sounding a little gleeful. "And I found somewhere that can help us!"

They all looked down at the little boy. "Did you, little Gavroche?" Courfeyrac said, giving him a small smile.

"Yes. I was wandering about and this woman came and got me and she took me back to this house and there were lots of people there, some of them like us, just arrived, you know? And this group gives them clothes and I got a bath and they talked to me about what it is," he explained, all in a rush. "C'mon, I know my way back there!"

Before any of them could stop him, he was off, running away from them once more.


	4. quirks

**4**

Gavroche led them through the maze of narrow streets to a building Eponine remembered passing on her way to the square. Unlike the rest of the buildings, this one had only one floor and looked quite squat in comparison, but covered a rather large area. The huge front door was painted a bright red, and there was a large brass door knocker set into the middle. It was the most welcoming building Eponine had seen so far.

Gavroche skipped up to the door and banged on it with his fist. Seconds later, a woman answered the door. She was small and pretty, with dark red hair and blue eyes. The dark green dress she wore had a very high collar that went right up to her chin, and there were several rings on her fingers. Eponine, who had not owned such jewellery since she was a child, stared at the gaudy gems with envy.

"Hello, little one!" the woman said in a happy voice, bending over so that she was on eye-level with Gavroche. "I see you brought us some friends?"

Gavroche nodded. "This is my sister," he said, "And my friends."

The woman straightened up, and smiled at them. "Come in," she said, standing aside.

They walked into a plain, bright room, lit by a roaring fire. There were some simple, wooden benches set against the walls, and an intricately-patterned rug thrown over the wooden floorboards.

Eponine stood behind Gavroche, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"My name is Éléonore," the woman said. "I'm one of the Guardians here. There are several in this centre, but you can find many more in different areas. Our aim is to help newcomers settle in and educate them on where we are and what will happen to them," she explained. "Now, I know you probably have a lot of questions –"

"Yes," Combeferre interrupted. "We do."

She nodded at him. "Yes, _monsieur_, I understand that completely. But our procedure here is quite simple. Before we have that discussion, you must all be cleaned up. I will take you to some rooms, where baths will be prepared and some nurses will be sent to tend to your wounds. You will be given fresh clothes, and _then _we will answer all of your questions. We find people are a lot happier when they are feeling comfortable." She ruffled Gavroche's hair.

"We are grateful for the offer," Combeferre continued, "But –"

"_Monsieur_," Éléonore said, "We really do insist. Trust me, you will feel a lot better, and you're not a pleasant sight to look at, none of you are."

"But –" Courfeyrac tried, but he was cut off.

"If you are concerned about your friends," she said, "Some of them have been rounded up all ready and are being seen to. And we have scouts out looking for the rest as we speak, and some are probably at one of the other centres. Trust me, everyone will be safe. Come, I will have some rooms prepared for you now."

XXX

Eponine was shown into a small room with yellow walls and a green carpet. There was a roaring fire, and a tin bath filled with steaming water in front of it. A dress and undergarments was hanging on the wooden screen in the corner.

Éléonore left her in the company of a servant girl named Penelope. Penelope looked to be about sixteen, was tall and gangly, and Eponine couldn't help but be transfixed by the clean gashes that covered Penelope's neck and chest. She was a very quiet girl, and didn't try to force conversation; for that Eponine was grateful, because she didn't feel like talking.

The girl sat her down on a wooden chair and produced a collection of items from a wooden cupboard in the corner. There was a rough clay bowl, a sponge, and a jar with a screw lid filled with an off-white substance. She dipped the bowl into the bath and wet the sponge.

"Can you remove your clothes, please, _mademoiselle_," she said.

Eponine felt a little awkward, getting undressed in front of this stranger. She couldn't look the girl in the eye as she began to clean Eponine's wounds. The hand wasn't that uncomfortable, but when Penelope knelt down to clean Eponine's abdomen she felt like protesting.

"There, you can get in the bath now," Penelope said, smearing the off-white paste from the jar onto her wounds. It felt cool on her stomach and hand.

She stared down at the gloopy paste, feeling doubtful. "Won't it wash off?"

Penelope shrugged. "A bit. But it makes the skin shrink – makes them a little less noticeable."

"Will they heal?" Eponine asked, stepping into the bath. It felt lovely, the temperature perfect.

Penelope retrieved a bar of soap from the cupboard, along with a flannel and another sponge. She set them on the floor next to the bath. "It is complicated," she said slowly. "I don't really understand it, _mademoiselle_. Leave it to Éléonore, she knows what she's talking about."

Eponine sank into the bath. "I don't want my hand stuck like this for the rest of my life," she muttered.

A sad expression flitted across Penelope's face. "No, no one wants to keep these injuries for the rest of their lives," she said. "I hate being one of those who had a violent death, _mademoiselle_. Those who died of illness or of old age…They are so _pitying_. And I never liked pity, not even when I was alive."

And with those words, Penelope slipped out of the room, leaving Eponine alone in the bath and with her thoughts.

XXX

After Eponine had bathed, she stood and looked at herself in the long looking-glass that hung on the wall. She was still dripping with water, but she didn't mind – she didn't feel cold because of the fire, she assumed.

The girl that stared back at her was uncomfortably thin and bony, and her arms, face, chest and hands were a lot darker than the rest of her skin. But it was unusual to see herself without any grime covering her body, and she wondered how odd it would feel to see her hair actually _clean _once the water had dried.

However, the most peculiar thing, in her opinion, was seeing the terrible wounds with no blood whatsoever. They looked unreal in the light of the fire; the odd paste that Penelope had given her had done its job to make the wounds shrink a little, but they were still noticeable and now an odd purple colour.

She shuddered as she looked at them. She thought back to what Penelope had said, about the healing of these wounds being _complicated_. She really hoped that didn't mean _they never heal_.

Pulling herself out of her reverie, she quickly dressed in the clothes hanging over the screen. The dress they had given her was very simple, made from a slightly rough fabric that was reddish-brown in colour. They hadn't given her any shoes, so she put back on the boots she had been wearing before. Then she looked at herself again.

Eponine thought she looked slightly more human now that she wore clothes. She even liked the dress, liked the fact she was clean; it made her feel _normal_.

Not long after she had finished dressing, there was a knock at the door. She stared at it for a few minutes, but then the door handle turned and it opened. Éléonore poked her head around. She smiled at Eponine. "Did you enjoy your bath, _mademoiselle_?" she asked.

Eponine nodded.

"Do you mind if I come inside?" she said. She was already edging into the room, making Eponine feel like rolling her eyes. There was not even the option to argue.

"Is this the time when you tell me what is going on?" Eponine asked.

Éléonore shut the door behind her. She gestured towards the wooden chair that Eponine had sat on earlier, when Penelope had seen to her wounds. "Please, sit down."

Eponine did so.

"There is no easy way to say this," Éléonore said. "But, you're dead."

Eponine raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I'd worked that out for myself," she said.

"Had you?" Éléonore smiled. "You'd be amazed at how many people simply don't understand…Most of the people who come through our doors are none the wiser until we actually explain to them where they are."

"If this is heaven…" Eponine trailed off. Eponine shook her head, and a second later, Éléonore copied her.

"We cannot say for sure what this is," Éléonore said. "That is the truth. But we know that people come here when they die. It's…It's an odd place, that's for sure. It changes all the time. People come, and people go, but it's hard to say when they will leave. Some people stay here for a matter of days before they are never seen again, and we have no way of knowing where they have gone. There is only one clue, and that clue only comes if they have died a violent death – that is, a death which leaves a mark on the body – because the nearer they come to leaving this place, the more their wounds will heal."

Well, that certainly explained the _complicated _comment that Penelope had made, Eponine had thought to herself.

"The conclusion we have come to is that, when you die, you must…come to terms with what has happened, before you can move on." Éléonore pulled at the high collar of her dress in an agitated fashion. "Most of this is conjecture, you understand. We don't know for sure what makes people leave and what makes people stay, just as we don't know where they have gone. I myself have been here for over ten years and I have no idea when I will go. I have known people who reckon they've been here for more than fifty years and are no closer to leaving than they were the day they arrived."

Eponine personally thought this sounded depressing, and would explain Penelope's maudlin mood earlier on and the sad look that had passed across Éléonore's face as she spoke.

But then Éléonore forced a smile onto her mouth. "But most of us try to find some sort of meaning, _mademoiselle_. Some of us become Guardians, who try to assimilate newcomers to this world and help them understand how it works. You'd be surprised how much goes on in this society, too! Arts are very popular. We have theatres now, and books, and education. Of course, there are a lot of people who just sit around because – well, to be blunt, there is no such thing as money here, and therefore no proper jobs…"

"No money?" Eponine echoed. "How do you survive?"

"We do not need to eat," Éléonore explained. "We can, as a pleasantry, but it's not necessary – same goes for drinking. And there is a funny quirk in this place…"

"Which is…?" Eponine prompted.

Éléonore twisted her hands together. "Hold out your palm," she ordered.

Eponine did as she was asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"Imagine something," she said. "Visualise it, in your head, and will it to appear on your hand."

It crossed Eponine's mind then that Éléonore was quite mad, but she did as she was told. She thought of an orange, a fruit she had only eaten a few times. She concentrated hard. At first, nothing happened, but then she felt her palm tingling and before her eyes, the fruit materialised.

Eponine stared, and Éléonore smiled. She stepped closer.

Eponine curled her fist around the fruit. It felt weird. Éléonore reached out and took it away from her, and examined it closely.

"Not bad for a first try," she said. "But you missed a few things and it's probably not completely whole, but you'll get the trick soon enough. The point is, nothing here has monetary value when you can make anything you want appear before your eyes."

Eponine continued to stare at the orange now resting in Éléonore's hand. What she would have given to be able to do that when she was alive, and now she _had _the power it was…pointless, because she was not alive, couldn't be hurt and presumably couldn't die and what was the point of all this, anyway?

But there was not much time to dwell on all of this because suddenly, Eponine's world went black.

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story so far, I really appreciate it :)**


	5. thinking

**5**

"Do not worry, little Gavroche…Sometimes, this just happens…Not often, but she will suffer no permanent damage…Isn't possible…"

These were the sounds that Eponine drifted awake to. She opened her eyes. She was in a bed, she could tell that much; a very comfortable bed, with soft sheets. For a moment, she revelled in the cosiness of the bed and its layers of blankets, but then sat up.

She wasn't in the room she had bathed in. This room was more spacious, with wood-panelled walls and a dark red carpet on the floor. But there was the same roaring fire crackling away.

Gavroche was sat on a wooden chair next to the bed, his feet up onto the seat and his arms wrapped around his knees. He stared at her with big, wide eyes, and Éléonore hovered behind him.

"What happened?" Eponine said.

"You fainted," Éléonore provided. "It happens, sometimes. You're not the first to have done so when a Guardian has explained what is going on."

She edged forward and sat on the edge of the bed. "Sleep here is rather like eating," she continued. "A pleasantry, but not necessary to survive. And sometimes, when a person is overloaded with information, they just shut down. Like you did. How are you feeling?"

"I feel fine," Eponine said, slowly. "Kind of. A bit overwhelmed."

Éléonore nodded. "Understandable, giving the circumstances. You're not the first person to have fainted after being given the explanation."

Eponine took some kind of comfort in this, but it wasn't much. She was still dead, after all, dead and in some kind of afterlife. She drew the blankets on the bed around her shoulders without speaking, gnawing on her lower lip with her teeth.

Éléonore patted her on the leg. "It's really not all as bad as it seems," she said.

Gavroche nodded excitedly. "It's actually really good, 'Ponine! Think about it. We can't starve, we don't need money, no one can hurt us…"

"But we're dead," Eponine pointed out. "We're…_here_, and everyone else…"

The look of pure joy on Gavroche's face slipped somewhat. "Do you mean Mama and Papa?" he said, distaste turning the corners of his mouth downwards. "Because I'm glad to be here, if I'm away from them."

"No!" Eponine shook her head. "No, I don't mean _them_. But, what of 'Zelma?"

Gavroche snorted. "I'm sure she's fine."

At this point, Éléonore stood up. "I'll leave you two to talk," she said, smiling kindly, although there was some uncertainty behind it.

Gavroche ignored the woman completely, but Eponine watched her leave. Once the door had snapped shut, Gavroche said, "Why aren't you happy?"

Eponine couldn't help but scoff at his words, the laugh escaping before she could stop it. "Gavroche," she said, slowly, "We are _dead_. What part of that do you not understand? We're dead. Dead!" The word was spiralling around her head.

Her brother shook his head and scowled. "This place is better," he announced. "We can be happy here."

Eponine hated herself, because her eyes were overflowing with hot, bitter tears that she didn't want Gavroche to see. Instead of speaking (for then her voice might break) she just shook her head and looked away from him.

There were a few moments of silence. She could hear Gavroche fidgeting. Then he jumped down off his chair, feet thudding onto the floor.

"You don't understand," Eponine muttered under her breath. Her brother's footsteps paused for the shortest of moments, and then the door opened and shut. She looked around.

She was alone.

XXX

Eponine wasn't sure how much time passed, but pass it did.

She found herself just…lying there. Sometimes, she sat up. She never once got out of bed. What was the point? She didn't need to eat. She didn't need to bathe, she assumed, because she didn't need to do anything else a normal person would have to if they were alive.

So instead she just stayed in the bed and thought. She thought about the barricade. She thought about her parents. She thought about the sound of gunshots. She thought about Montparnasse. She thought about hunger. She thought about Azelma and Gavroche and their other brothers she'd never got to know. She thought about Paris. She thought about the inn. She thought about things she used to own before they lost everything. She thought about bruises and pain and beatings. And she thought about Marius, and Cosette, and the fact he was still alive whilst she was here.

Here, lying in a bed, staring at the wall and occasionally her ruined hand, thinking about her life, her cold, dark, miserable life. Whilst they lived, and breathed, and loved.

What was the point, Eponine wondered. Why was she here? Why were any of them here?

She was dead. Dead. She'd always thought that death would bring some kind of relief from the hell she was living, but this…There was no relief in this, because she was still living that hell; reliving it, hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second.

And the problem lay in the fact she didn't know if she could ever escape this new hell she had entered into.

XXX

"Eponine? Come on. We need the bed."

She hadn't even heard the door open, but Éléonore was stood there, a worried expression on her face.

"Hm?" Eponine said.

"We need the bed," Éléonore repeated. "I'm sorry. But a group's just come in, and he – well, he didn't take the news _too _well. And we're all out of beds, I'm afraid."

Before Eponine could move, Éléonore had to jump out of the way as some men carried in another man. Eponine took a few moments to register what was going on, but once her mind had deciphered the facts she clambered out of the bed as fast as she could.

The two men doing the carrying were Combeferre and Courfeyrac. And between them they carried Joly, the medical student who had always been quite kind to Eponine, when they had spoken to each other.

"Hello, _mademoiselle_," Courfeyrac said, trying to sound cheerful as they hoisted Joly onto the bed she had just vacated. "We are very sorry to disturb you, but Joly here got a bit excited over the concept of _no disease_…"

Combeferre snorted.

Eponine backed up against the wall, as they moved away from the bed and looked at her.

"Are you okay, _mademoiselle_?" Combeferre asked. "We have not seen much of you since we got here…"

Eponine wasn't really sure what to say, and was grateful when Éléonore answered on her behalf. "Eponine just needed some time to herself," the young woman provided. "Eponine, if you come with me I can find you a quiet room to sit in, if you want…"

On the bed, Joly groaned and stirred. They all looked at him as his eyes fluttered open.

"I'm still here," he muttered. "It wasn't a dream. You don't sleep in dreams." There was a confused, bewildered expression on his face and Eponine sympathised completely.

She pushed off the wall and walked around the bed. She nodded at the other men and exited the room, waiting for Éléonore to join her.

A couple of minutes passed, by Eponine's reckoning, before Éléonore came out of the room.

"I don't want to stay here," Eponine said bluntly.

Éléonore nodded. "That is fine. We can't really have any of you here for much longer, if I'm being completely honest; people are dying all the time and we need all the room we can get."

Eponine wrapped her arms around herself. "I can go now," she suggested.

Éléonore raised her eyebrows. "No, no," she said, shaking her head. "We can't have you wandering about aimlessly; it completely goes against our policies as an organisation. Our job is to see you settled in to the society here, so before you can leave we have to find somewhere for you to _go_."

It was Eponine's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Somewhere for me to go?" she echoed.

"Yes," Éléonore said. "If you come with me now, I can find you somewhere to sit and then I can send someone off to make the arrangements. Then you can leave."

The other woman set off briskly down the corridor. Eponine was clearly expected to follow, and she did eventually. Her brain was trying to process what was happening here – they were going to help her.

Someone was helping her. Eponine couldn't quite remember the last time someone helped her; it was an alien concept.

And she wasn't quite sure it was one she was enjoying.

**A/N: When I first started writing this, I hadn't come up with a complete plot (I still haven't really), but the more I muse on it the more I've realised that the story will eventually become a romance...****_Eventually_****. I'm not precisely sure on the details just yet, but it will happen. So the genre is going to change on here.**

**Also, I'm really grateful to anyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story so far! Thank you so much :)**


	6. persuasion

**6**

The room that Éponine was showed into next was not nearly as nice as the bedroom, or even the room she had bathed in. There was only a table and some chairs, and the walls were a stark white and there was no decoration at all.

The chair she was sat in was also uncomfortable, she thought, shifting around in her seat. She stared up at the ceiling, and huffed a small sigh. Now she was out of the reverie she had fallen into whilst lying in bed, she had no desire to return to those dark thoughts any time soon.

But in a room as plain as this, she had no other choice but to carry on thinking a little bit more. She thought about Marius, lying in that bed. When he was better, would he think of her, she wondered. Think of her like how she was thinking of him? Would he at least be grateful for the sacrifice she had made?

She hoped so, because she was _here_ with a mangled hand and too many thoughts buzzing around her brain.

All of a sudden, the door to the room opened and Gavroche bounded in. "Are you going to talk to me now?" he said, voice somewhat accusatory.

"What?" she said.

"I came in before," he said. "And you wouldn't talk to me."

Éponine frowned. "Did you? I don't remember you coming in at all."

Her brother sneered, but before he could say anything, Éléonore came in. "Someone's looking for a place for you now," she said. "I hope neither of you mind, but I took the liberty of saying you wanted an apartment together…"

Gavroche's brow knitted together in confusion. "Huh?"

"Éponine wants to leave," Éléonore said, placing a hand on Gavroche's shoulder. "People don't stay here forever, little Gavroche. And she's your sister, so I assumed…"

"That's fine," Éponine said. She didn't mind. She did love Gavroche, after all, and he loved her too in his own little way. They'd never really lived together, either, but she'd rather he was with her than anywhere else.

"Where are you going?" Gavroche whirled around to face her.

Éponine shrugged. "Wherever they send me," she said.

"It'll be an apartment of some kind," Éléonore said.

Gavroche's face screwed up in distaste. "I don't want to go," he said.

"I'm sorry, Gavroche, but this is no permanent accommodation here," Éléonore said, her voice a little sympathetic. "Not even the Guardians live here full-time. I have an apartment myself…"

Éponine studied her brother closely. She knew that Éléonore was missing the point because she knew her brother. She knew where the problem lay.

Gavroche couldn't remember a time when he wasn't free, as free as he could possibly be. Gavroche was a child of the streets. He went where he wanted to, when he wanted to, because _he _wanted to. Gavroche wasn't used to walls or barriers or orders. Hell, he wasn't even used to the comfort of a real bed.

It wasn't an issue of leaving this building, she knew. It was the issue of, for the first time in his life, the potential of him having a permanent home.

Éponine was about to tell him it didn't matter, when there was a knock at the half-open door.

Courfeyrac poked his head around. He smiled broadly. "Hello," he said. "Sorry if I'm disturbing anything. But Mathilde told me you were here and you were the best person to speak to…"

"Yes, _monsieur_," Éléonore said. "It's fine. What's the problem?"

"Please, you don't need to call me _monsieur_," Courfeyrac said, stepping into the room fully. "And there's no problem. We – me and my friends – were wondering about where to go from here…"

Éponine sighed and leaned back in her seat.

"Ah." Éléonore smiled. "Éponine was wondering the same thing and we are trying to find accommodation for her right now. If you like, I can go and add you onto the search?"

Courfeyrac's grin got even bigger, if that were possible. "That would be brilliant," he said.

"I know there's a lot of you," Éléonore said, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. "I won't be a moment. Gavroche, if you could please think about it whilst I'm gone?" She ruffled the young boy's hair and swept out of the room.

"Think about what?" Courfeyrac enquired. His voice was entirely too cheerful for Éponine's liking.

"They want me to move into a _house_," Gavroche said, the disdain that coloured his tone confirming Éponine's suspicions of what the real issue at hand was.

"A house?" Courfeyrac echoed. "What's so bad about that?" He glanced at Éponine.

"We're not used to comforts such as a roof over our heads," Éponine provided in a quiet voice.

Realisation dawned on Courfeyrac's face. For once, his ever-present smile slipped somewhat as he crouched down so that he was on Gavroche's level. "So you don't want to live in a house?" he said.

Gavroche eyed the man warily, his eyes narrowing. He didn't answer.

"Gavroche," Courfeyrac said. "I understand why you don't want to live in a house."

"It's not a house," Éponine found herself piping up. "It's an apartment."

Courfeyrac shot her a look but didn't acknowledge her words with a vocal response. Instead, he said to Gavroche, "It's a good thing, though. Like you were saying before – how you could be happy here, and have the life you never had before…"

Éponine resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"A part of that life could be this house – apartment – shelter," Courfeyrac said. "Does the idea not appeal to you at all?"

"It should do," Éponine said. "God knows, it appeals to me. I'm surprised you're being like this, Gavroche. After all you spouted to me about how this place is wonderful and how you can have a better life, do you really want to go back to sleeping on the streets?"

"No one can hurt me here," Gavroche said, his chin jutting out.

Éponine knew there were other ways to hurt someone without causing them physical harm, but she decided not to comment on that.

"Maybe not," Courfeyrac said, slowly, "You can always take advantage of the fact you can have a roof over your head, though. Just in case there's a slim chance you _could _be hurt." He glanced towards Éponine once more. "And you'll be with your sister. Your family."

Gavroche folded his skinny arms over his chest. "She's no fun when she's being grumpy," he muttered.

At this, Courfeyrac snorted. "I couldn't agree more," he said, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But maybe if you agree to live with her, she might cheer up a bit."

Éponine ignored their jibes and returned to staring at the ceiling. A few minutes passed before she realised that Courfeyrac was speaking to her.

"Huh?" she said, only catching the end of a sentence.

Courfeyrac repeated: "The rest of us are in a room elsewhere. Would you care to join us? There's more comfortable chairs."

Éponine shrugged. "Might as well," she muttered. The thought of soft cushions was preferable to the hard wood she was currently sat on.

XXX

The sofa she eventually ended up sat on was indeed much more preferable to the wooden chair, but the chatter of the students was not better than the silence she could have been enjoying in that other room.

She was conflicted; on one hand, there was only a small group of students here, so the noise was by far not as bad as it could have been. On the other hand, this 'small group of students' happened to be the core of Les Amis de l'ABC. Éponine had personally found them to be the most annoying, but maybe that was because she simply spent more time around them due to the fact they were closer friends with Marius.

Whatever the reason, they were beginning to grate on her nerves. They all sounded far too happy for her liking.

Except for one, she observed. Enjolras, who was sat closest to the fire and was staring into the flames. He was not speaking, and he was not acknowledging that anyone was nearby. He was just staring. Éponine wondered whether she had looked like this not so long ago, and decided that she probably had.

She thought his silence was peculiar. To be fair, he was certainly not one of the rowdier members of the group; he was not a jester, he was not a big drinker – in fact, she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him have 'fun' in the traditional sense of the word. But he was always the centre of attention. Being the leader of Les Amis de l'ABC made that a very definite thing. He was always giving his speeches on equality and freedom; he knew how to command a room that was for sure. So to see him sat there, so quiet, his body stiff and closed off…It was somewhat unnerving.

More unnerving to Éponine, however, was the fact she'd completely missed the bullet hole in Enjolras' temple. She'd already become used to the wounds everyone bore here. And she personally didn't think that boded well for the future.


	7. loved

**7**

Just when Éponine thought the students could get no more irritating, Éléonore returned.

"We have managed to find you somewhere, Éponine, Gavroche," she said. "If you'd like to follow me…I'm sorry, boys, but we have a few things that we need to clear up first before we can find you anywhere," she added to the students.

Éponine practically jumped out of her seat, such was her eagerness to leave. Gavroche was much slower, dragging himself out of the seat he had in between Courfeyrac and Prouvaire.

"Before you go," Combeferre spoke up, from his place beside Enjolras, "May I have a word, Éponine?"

He was already out of his seat before Éponine could refuse this request. Éponine nodded in a goodbye to the rest of Les Amis, and grabbed Gavroche by his hand to hurry him out off the room. He shouted his goodbyes over his shoulder as she left.

Éléonore followed the other three out into the corridor. "Is it private?" she said.

"Not exactly," Combeferre said. "It was just something that's been on my mind. Éponine, you knew that we had died before we did and you said something – you said that Marius had survived, and he was receiving treatment. How is it you know that?"

Éponine wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to say, but it wasn't that. She released Gavroche's hand and smoothed a hand over his hair. He jerked away from her, scowling at the display of affection.

"When I was left at the barricade thing – I heard voices," Éponine said, slowly. "And…When I investigated, I realised they were coming from a carriage window that was embedded in the barricade. And I could see Marius, in the window, and see the doctor and this old man he was talking to. Then I couldn't see anything."

Beside them, Éléonore nodded her head, whilst Combeferre just looked very perplexed.

"That was a Portal," Éléonore said. "They're not very common, and they're never permanent. They pop up every so often, usually showing us loved ones or friends…"

The door opened. Enjolras came out. His eyes were narrowed, but there was some level of recognition on his face. Maybe he had heard some of their conversation, Éponine considered.

"Is this Marius – were you close to Marius?" Éléonore asked. A sort of tension fell over the little group, and Éponine felt more than a little awkward. She had her suspicions that the students had been aware of her feelings for Marius, but the awkward way Combeferre averted his eyes confirmed it.

"Kind of. In a way," Éponine muttered under her breath, looking down at the floor.

"I've only ever seen a Portal once myself, and it was to see my mother," Éléonore continued. "I've heard you can will them, if you wish strong enough, but it's not…It's not recommended."

Enjolras planted his hands on his hips. "Is this a way to see the…" He paused, then almost spat out his next words. "_Living _world?"

"Yes," Éléonore said. "Éponine saw a Portal, that's what they're called."

"You saw Marius?" Enjolras said. It was obvious he was speaking to Éponine, but it was a little hard to tell considering he wouldn't meet her eyes. That had always angered her when they were alive. Considering the foul mood she was in, it was annoying her even more in death.

"Yes," Éponine said, through a sigh.

"You heard them talk?" Enjolras continued. "Did they mention the barricade? The revolution?"

Éponine snorted. "Considering it failed and we all died, Enjolras, I hardly think it can be called a 'revolution'. And yeah, they did mention it."

For a fleeting moment, Enjolras' eyes met hers. There was emotion in them – a dark anger mixed with contempt and resentment. She couldn't see her face right now, but she knew the same emotions were on her face. Then he looked away, and the moment was lost.

"What did they say about it?" he said. His voice was expressionless. There was no reflection of the feelings in his eyes in his voice.

"Not much," she said, honestly. "Apart from the fact we were all dead, and…What was the phrase…It was a _horrible thing_, or something." She shrugged. "Does it matter anymore? We're –"

"Dead, yes, I know," Enjolras said, cutting her off. He raked a hand through his hair. "I apologise, _mademoiselle_. I do not mean to be rude."

"I've heard worse," Éponine said.

"So how do you access these – Portals?" Enjolras said.

Éléonore sighed. "I don't know, I've never tried," she said. "I saw one by chance, and it showed me my mother's death – that is all. I've never had any desire to see one. They are dangerous, _monsieur_. I've seen people being destroyed by seeking out these things. I met a man who became so talented at opening them that he spent all of his time staring into one. He was a wreck. He went insane. No, it is best you don't try to seek Portals. The occasional accidental one is fine, but…Constant ones…They are not a good idea…"

"Well, then," Combeferre cut in, staring at Enjolras. "We will do our best to avoid them. Come on, Enjolras. Let's go back inside."

Enjolras shook his head. "No," he said. "I think I'm going to go for a walk."

Before anyone could stop him, Enjolras set off down the corridor. Combeferre moved to follow him, but Éléonore reached out a hand and stopped the other man, cupping his elbow. Combeferre looked down at the redheaded woman. Éléonore shook her head. "Leave him be," she advised, her voice a low murmur. Then she cleared her throat. "_Monsieur_? I'm afraid you're going the wrong way. That way leads to private quarters. If you want to go for a walk, you need to go in the other direction."

Éponine suppressed a giggle, and she could tell by the sudden twisting around Gavroche's mouth that he was struggling not to laugh out loud. Only a few feet away, Enjolras had come to a stop, his shoulders stiff. He turned around, his lips pursed. He nodded at them as he passed, now presumably going the right way.

Combeferre stared after him, worry evident on his face. Éléonore still had her hand on his elbow, and she visibly squeezed his arm a little and then released him. "Try not to worry," Éléonore said. "Sometimes, people take a while to adjust to this place, this life. Clearly, he is one of those people."

Éponine ignored the way Éléonore's eyes flickered towards her as she spoke, and reached down to take Gavroche's hand once more. "What about our apartment?" she said.

Éléonore stepped away from Combeferre. "Yes," she said, giving them a sunny smile. "_Monsieur_, I will be back shortly to speak to you and your friends. Come along, you two. We'll have you settled shortly.

Gavroche bade Combeferre goodbye, and then Éponine ushered him down the corridor as they followed Éléonore.


	8. home

**8**

They got to the entrance room. Enjolras wasn't there, so she assumed he'd already made it out onto the streets. Or maybe he'd gone the wrong way again, she mused in her head. She smirked to herself at the thought.

"I think you upset Enjolras," Gavroche said to her. His voice was quiet and for once quite serious. Éponine glanced down at him and realised he'd slipped his hand out of hers.

"Hmm?" she said, even though she'd heard him.

"Enjolras," Gavroche said. "You might have upset him."

"You were quite harsh, Éponine," Éléonore chimed in from somewhere ahead of them.

"He's a grown man," Éponine said. "I'm sure he can handle it." She didn't say out loud what she was thinking, which was she was glad Enjolras felt upset. She wasn't known for her sympathetic nature, after all. It was partly his fault she was here, anyway; it was the revolution of his making that she'd died in, after all.

Before any more could be said on the subject, Éléonore was leading them into yet another room. One more fire, green walls this time, and a cluttered table in the centre surrounded by a variety of mismatched chairs. There were some people sat in there – a couple of men, more women – and one of those, a young girl, rose when they came in.

The girl looked to be about fourteen, and had curly blonde hair and a sour expression on her face.

"This is Inès," Éléonore said. "She's another Guardian. She's found you somewhere and she'll take you to help you settle in."

"Nice to meet you," Inès said as she learned their names, even though the look on her face said she was anything other than happy to meet them. "It was just an apartment for two, yes?"

Éponine nodded. Inès stared Éponine up and down, and wrinkled her nose at Gavroche.

"I'll leave you in Inès' capable hands," Éléonore smiled. "Although, if you need any help, feel free to drop in. I'm sure there will be someone around to see you."

XXX

Inès walked too fast for Éponine's liking. Gavroche was dragging his feet in a way that made Éponine feel like slapping the young boy, but Inès wasn't far off running.

Éponine could, however, appreciate the fact that Inès wasn't trying to engage them in conversation. Gavroche was muttering under his breath, but Éponine welcomed the silence that came with their walk.

Inès led them to a tall, grey building with stairs zigzagging up the front of it. There were about seven front doors, each on one of the landings. "This is it," Inès said, ignoring the door on the ground floor and beginning to climb the stairs. "Your apartment is number four."

Their door was painted a bright green, and had its number on a plaque on the wall beside it. Inès fished in the pockets on the front of her dress and produced a simple key. "Try not to show anyone you don't trust this key just on the off chance they remember its design and try to recreate it," she said, her voice sounding bored and mechanical. She stuck the key into the lock and turned.

"Is robbery common here?" Éponine wondered.

Inès sent her a sideways look and pushed the door open. "Some people find old habits hard to break," she said. "And others just love the thrill of breaking and entering. But it's not _very _common, no."

She stepped over the threshold, and Éponine and Gavroche followed. They were stood in a small, square room, with white walls and a rough wooden floor. No furniture, just a couple of alcoves that formed shelves in the wall. There were two more doors.

Inès gestured at the room with her hands. "This is it," she said. "There are two more rooms through those doors, which could be your bedrooms, if you like."

"There's no furniture," Éponine frowned.

"You can create your own," Inès shrugged. "It's not hard, Éléonore should have explained how you do it."

"Only a small thing," Éponine argued. "An orange. I don't know –"

"Then you'll just have to learn," the younger girl sniped. "It's not actually in my job description to stand around helping you conjure furniture."

"Well, aren't you an unhelpful creature," Éponine said. "So why don't you run along and leave us to it?"

Inès looked unimpressed. She raised her eyebrows. "I will do," she said. She threw Éponine the key, but it was Gavroche who snatched it out of the air. "As Éléonore said, if you need any help with anything, just pop in and someone will see you. But, for now, you're on your own."

She left the flat, and slammed the door shut behind her.

"She's in the wrong job," Éponine said. She held out her hand towards Gavroche. "Key."

"I live here too," Gavroche said, defensively.

"Give," she said. "I'm the adult here."

"We're equals here," Gavroche retorted.

"I'm your older sister," Éponine said, triumphantly. "So, give me the key."

Gavroche shook his head. She lunged at him, and after a couple of minutes, managed to wrestle the key out of his grasp. After their scuffle was over, they both stared at each other for a few moments.

Gavroche looked away first following their little battle of wills, grumbling under his breath.

"You can have a copy of the key," Éponine said. "But for now, it stays with me, okay?"

Gavroche just continued to scowl in her general direction. She ignored him and stared around the empty space they would now be calling home. It looked so bare, and there was nothing to do here, nothing to sit on…

"We need furniture," she said out loud. "Have you conjured anything, Gavroche?"

"I made a penny," he said.

"I think we just have to imagine these things and will them to be there," she said. "Shall we start with something…Maybe…Maybe a chair?"

"There's two of us," Gavroche said.

"Two chairs? I could make one, you could make one…" Éponine trailed off. "Or a sofa. A sofa, let's start with a sofa."

They both looked at each other, and then looked around the room. A part of Éponine had expected the sofa to just appear, but she knew deep down that was silly because it had taken more effort than that to create an orange which was a much smaller item.

"We're going to have to try harder than that, then," Éponine said. "Let's try again."

Their first attempt looked horrid, because they'd both gone to create a different type of sofa; it was a mishmash of different materials and odd angles. So they tried again, after discussing the exact details together. This time, it looked right; but then when they tried to sit on it, it collapsed beneath them and was just a heap of…

Éponine didn't know what to describe the outer shell of the sofa as, because it didn't feel like any material she'd ever felt before. It was too smooth, for starters.

They stared at the heap of pale blue on the floorboards and then stared at each other. "I don't understand," Gavroche said, scowling. "The sofa was just _there_."

"Maybe…" Éponine's mind ticked over, wondering what they were missing. Something seemed to slot into place in her mind and she focused in on the pile of blue. She closed her eyes, and thought hard. She had a hunch, and working on that hunch, she imagined the feel of cloth beneath her fingertips. Soft, but slightly rough at the same time. She thought hard, and then opened her eyes.

She ran her hand over the pile of blue, which had now turned into a heap of cloth. She blue fabric had taken on the texture she had imagined in her head.

"I think I've worked it out," she said, excitedly. "It's not enough to imagine just the image – we have to imagine everything about the sofa for it to work!"

Together, they worked on their sofa. They had to imagine its different structural elements and then add the stuffing to it. It didn't take up a large amount of time, but it did take a lot of effort. Once they were done, Éponine could honestly say it was the first time she had felt tired since she woke up in this place.

It was more than tired; it was exhaustion, pressing at the back of her eyes and weighing down on her mind. She could tell by the droop of Gavroche's shoulders that he was feeling the same way.

She fell back onto their sofa. They might have gone a bit overboard with the stuffing, she thought dimly at the back of her mind, as it was possibly overstuffed. But it didn't matter. They had an item of furniture for their new home, and she was aware of Gavroche curling up at her side, and then she was asleep.


	9. disappear

**9**

Gavroche was gone when Éponine next opened her eyes.

He was no longer curled up by her side when she turned to look. She touched the space where he had been, almost as if she was expecting there to be some residual warmth left behind. But there wasn't. She sat up quickly.

"Gavroche?" she called. There was no response. She got to her feet and crossed the room, trying one of the doors that Inès had said led to their bedrooms. She swung it inwards, showing off a smaller version of the apartment's main room. It was just as empty. The second one was exactly the same. There was nowhere in this apartment to hide, so it confirmed what Éponine had feared – Gavroche had left.

The key to the apartment lay where it had been discarded earlier on the floor. She crossed the room and bent down to pick it up, curling her fingers around it as she straightened up and thought about what to do next.

Gavroche had been roaming the streets of Paris since he was a much, much younger boy. He knew the streets like the back of his hand, and not just in terms of geographical locations. He knew how they worked, he knew where he stood, he knew how to get by. But this was not Paris. This was a wholly unfamiliar place and even though people had reassured her they couldn't be physically harmed it didn't mean she didn't want to find Gavroche just to make sure he was okay…

With that in mind, she strode across the room and left the apartment.

XXX

She stomped around the unfamiliar, narrow streets for nearly three hours. It reminded her of that first day here, when she had got lost and ran into the National Guard on the square.

People gave her funny looks as she walked, particularly those who she walked past more than once. She stopped and asked a few people if they had seen Gavroche, giving them his description; they all claimed not to have seen him, though, and she had no way of knowing if they were telling the truth or not.

Night fell, and this only made the streets harder to navigate. There were certain streets where she could barely see a thing, and she hated the fact the darkness made her heart quicken. There were more than a couple of times when she had thought she was walking alone down a street and suddenly someone appeared out of the darkness right next to her – and just as many times when she could have sworn she was not alone but no one showed themselves.

She was beginning to consider returning to the apartment – if she could find it, that is – when the end of the street she was walking down was suddenly blocked by a broad-shouldered figure.

Éponine paused for the briefest of moments as she walked, hesitant when the figure didn't move an inch. The closer she got to the person, the more detail she could see; it was a man, that was certain, quite a tall one, muscular. Then his facial features all seemed to make sense and she knew exactly who it was.

"Bahorel?" she said, confused.

"Éponine," the man greeted her. "Did I scare you?"

"No," she said, not entirely honest. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for someone," he said. "And I could ask you the same question. Shouldn't you be furnishing your new apartment?"

"I was, but then Gavroche ran off," she said. "Have you seen him?"

"No," Bahorel said, shaking his head. "Sorry. But to be honest, I wasn't looking for him so I might have missed him."

"Who are you looking for?" Éponine asked, fidgeting with the key she had been carrying around with her during her search.

"Enjolras," Bahorel replied, with a heavy sigh. "We've not seen him since you left the Guardian building and he went outside to speak to you. We have no idea where he is."

Maybe her words had hit him harder than she'd thought, Éponine thought to herself. Outwardly, she said, "I haven't seen him, but I'll keep an eye out for him whilst I look for Gavroche, if you do the same for me?"

"Of course," Bahorel said. "If I see Gavroche, I'll tell him to get back to you."

"Thank you," she said. "Same, if I see Enjolras." She wasn't sure he'd actually want to speak to her, but she could only try.

"I'll let you go," Bahorel said. "See you soon, Éponine."

He edged past her and carried on down the street she had just come from. She herself turned left out of the street, which to her looked just like the last one. Now she had to look out for Enjolras too. But it was hard, in the dark. Everything blurred into each other, and nothing looked right.

She wandered aimlessly for another hour or so, still not quite sure where she was or where she was going. Then she looked up and realised she was stood outside the Guardian's building.

She stared at it for a few moments and wondered what she should do. The words from Éléonore echoed in her head, reminding her that they'd offered to help her if she needed. And then she wondered whether Gavroche, who had apparently felt comfortable in this building, might have come back to it.

Biting her lip, she knocked on the door.

XXX

It was not Éléonore who answered the door but a young man named Nicolas. She asked to see Éléonore, and was invited to sit in one of their waiting rooms until the woman could see her.

She was waiting a total of ten minutes; Éponine was bored enough to count. Then Éléonore came in. She was wearing a yellow dress today, and her hair was loose instead of the bun she'd had it styled in the last time Éponine had seen her. "Hello, Éponine," she said, giving her a sunny smile. "Is everything okay? It's quite late…"

"I can't find Gavroche," Éponine blurted with no pleasantries. "I've been looking for him since I woke up –"

"You went to sleep?" Éléonore crossed the room and sat on the sofa beside Éponine.

"We made a sofa," Éponine said. "We were tired."

"Sometimes happens," Éléonore said, nodding. "So you fell asleep…"

"Yes, and I woke up and Gavroche wasn't there." Éponine ran the hand that wasn't clutching her key through her hair. "I'm sorry, but as I said, I've been looking for him all day and I didn't know what else to do, where else I could look. Can you help me?"

"I'm surprised you didn't get yourself completely lost, just wandering," Éléonore murmured. "This isn't really my area –"

Éponine felt herself deflate, but the other woman wasn't finished speaking.

"_But_," Éléonore said, clearly seeing Éponine's disappointment, "My shift finishes in three minutes, so I can help you then. I can conjure us a lantern and we can carry on looking together. I know these streets better and I can think of a few places he might have gone that you wouldn't know about, being so new."

"Thank you," Éponine said. "I know he can't come to any harm…"

"That doesn't mean you can't worry," Éléonore said. "I don't think you're wrong to look for him, Éponine. As independent as Gavroche likes to be, he's still a child and your little brother. These feelings are only natural."

She patted Éponine's knee, and then smiled. "Come on. I think my shift is over by now…"


	10. guide

**10**

Éponine could have kicked herself for not having thought of conjuring a lantern earlier. With the light from its flame, they could see much better, and with Éléonore's help she could navigate the streets much faster.

"Did he have any hiding spots when he was alive?" Éléonore asked as they paused to allow an elderly man to hobble past.

"I'm not really sure," Éponine admitted. "We – we never lived together. Gavroche was homeless."

Éléonore glanced at her, but didn't say anything. "So, he could have gone anywhere?"

"Basically," Éponine muttered, hoping she could be more helpful.

Éléonore suggested asking passersby if they had seen Gavroche, even though Éponine had explained she had already done that. She was slightly disgruntled to find people were more responsive and polite towards Éléonore, even if they hadn't seen Gavroche.

Éléonore stopped to ask a woman passing by if she had seen a little boy. Éponine squinted at the woman, and recognised her; she knew she had spoken to the woman earlier on in the day, before it went dark.

The woman wrinkled her nose at Éponine, but answered Éléonore's question politely enough. "Yeah, I saw him earlier on in the day," she said. "He was heading down towards the river. He wasn't on his own, though."

Éléonore raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Who was he with?"

"A man," the woman said, cautiously. "Look, Guardian, I've got places to be –"

"I won't keep you much longer," Éléonore said. "What did the man look like?"

"Tall, blond." The woman pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as a slightly dreamy look passed over her face. "Handsome."

Éponine rolled her eyes. "Enjolras," she said. "He's with Enjolras."

That was a comfort, at least. She knew that Gavroche wouldn't get in any trouble as long as Enjolras was around; the blond man was one of the few people Gavroche would listen to. And she knew that Enjolras would look after him as well.

The woman pushed past them. Éléonore's brow furrowed. "Enjolras?" she repeated. "Is that the one who was so curious about the Portals?"

Éponine nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. He's a good man…"

"But we should still find your brother," Éléonore said.

"That, and Enjolras' friends are looking for him as well," Éponine said, shrugging. "None of them have seen him since he left that day."

Éléonore didn't respond. She adjusted her grip on the lantern and nodded her head forwards. "Let's keep on going," she said. "We should head towards the river if that's where the woman saw them going…"

"Éponine!"

Éponine whirled around at the sound of her name. By the glow of the lantern in the narrow street, they could see Combeferre jogging towards them.

"Before you ask, no, I haven't seen Enjolras," Éponine said as the man drew level with them. "Have you seen Gavroche, by any chance?"

"He's missing too?" Combeferre exclaimed.

"Yes," Éponine said. "But I've got Éléonore to help us now."

Combeferre glanced at the Guardian, who smiled at him in greeting.

"We just spoke to a woman who said she saw a little boy of Gavroche's description with a man who matches the description of your friend," Éléonore informed him. "And she said they were heading down to the river. Would you care to join us?"

Combeferre nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. They slowly began to amble down the street together.

"How are you both finding your new homes?" Éléonore asked.

"I haven't really had time to settle in," Combeferre admitted. "We were too worried about where Enjolras had got himself to that we didn't really think about furnishing the place…"

"I'm sure he's fine," Éléonore reassured him. "As I've said countless times before, there's not that much that can harm him. My only worry is he might have attempted to find a Portal – he seemed very interested in them the last time I saw him – which is not a road I would encourage him to go down."

"The thought had crossed my mind," Combeferre said. "Why do you think Gavroche ran off, Éponine?" he added, changing the subject.

"Bored, probably," Éponine shrugged. "I don't know what goes on in that little boy's head half the time. He wasn't ever keen on the idea of having a permanent home, to be fair to him, so I guess I should have expected it."

"It was unfair of both of them to go and not tell you where they were going," Éléonore said. "What I think is the likeliest situation was they were lost. Enjolras, especially, considering he doesn't actually know where his apartment is. Is he sharing with anyone?"

Combeferre nodded. "Myself and our friend Courfeyrac, but everyone is looking for him. I just hope he hasn't run into any of those National Guard people…"

Éléonore's eyebrows shot up at that. As briefly as possible, Combeferre explained the situation that brought them all to this place, and the incident in the square involving Éponine.

"They _can't _physically hurt him," Éléonore said slowly. "So don't even worry. The worst they can do is throw words at him."

"It's not him I'm worried about," Combeferre said dryly. "You've never seen Enjolras lose his temper."

Their conversation turned to Éléonore's work as a guardian; Combeferre seemed to be incredibly interested in it, but Éponine couldn't have cared less at that precise moment in time. She observed that the buildings were thinning out somewhat, and then they were descending a flight of stone steps and walking along a riverbank.

The part they were walking on was paved, with little tufts of grass growing in between the slabs. There was a slightly raised lip running along the length of this paved area, and then there was the river itself. The black expanse of water gleamed in the darkness, and was perfectly still, almost like glass.

But it was the other side that intrigued Éponine. The other side was just grass, rising upwards into a hill, and beyond that was just a vast stretch of nothingness that was completely undisturbed.

"What's beyond there?" Éponine said, pointing.

Éléonore's eyes followed the direction Éponine's finger pointed to. "No one knows," she said, lightly.

"How? Has no one bothered to explore?"

"Oh, yes," Éléonore said. "But only a select few people can get across the river. It's really quite curious. And those that do never come back. As I said, no one knows because no one has ever come back. Look, I see people further down."

Éponine had no time to ponder the curiousness of what Éléonore had just said because she could indeed see two people sat on the raised lip. One was a small boy, the other a man, and they were unmistakably Gavroche and Enjolras.

Éponine slipped past Éléonore and took off, increasing the pace of her strides until she was almost running. Her footsteps alerted Gavroche and Enjolras to her presence, and they both turned around to look at her.

"What on earth do you think you've been doing?" Éponine snapped, planting her hands on her hips. "Gavroche, I've been going out of my _mind_ with worry. I have spent all day and most of the night wandering this place trying to find you! You could have at least told me you were leaving the apartment!"

Her younger brother kicked his legs. "Nothing happened," he said, rolling his eyes. "I've been keeping Enjolras company."

Enjolras ignored her, looking past her towards Combeferre. Combeferre drew to a stop beside Enjolras and Gavroche.

"I think you've been given enough time," Combeferre said. His voice was level, but Éponine could sense some irritation in his tone.

Enjolras turned away, gazing across the river.

Éponine rolled her eyes and reached down, placing her hand on Gavroche's shoulder. "Come on, Gavroche," she said. "We have an apartment to furnish."

"I don't _want _to," Gavroche muttered mutinously, but he clambered to his feet nonetheless.

"Tough," she said. "At the minute, we have one sofa. I'm not going to sleep tonight until we've got some beds as well."

"We don't need to sleep," Gavroche pointed out. At those words, Enjolras' shoulders did an odd jerk.

"I'd wondered why I hadn't felt tired yet," he muttered. Then, slowly, he stood up, running a hand through his mop of blond curls.

"You're living with Courfeyrac and I," Combeferre chose to say next. "I actually think we live quite close to here."

"You do," Éléonore called from behind them.

Enjolras nodded his head. "That is fine." He turned towards Gavroche, and looked down at the young boy. "Thank you, Gavroche, for keeping me company today. I appreciated it."

Gavroche beamed up at him.

Eponine glanced between the pair, then sighed. "Come on." She wrapped her fingers around Gavroche's. "Let's go home."

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews/alerts/favourites, I really appreciate it :)**


	11. portal

**11**

Éponine and Gavroche bade Éléonore goodbye and climbed the many stairs to their apartment. Éponine unlocked the door with the key she still grasped in one fist, and once inside, Gavroche leaped onto the sofa.

Éponine shut the door behind them and leaned against it. "Gavroche," she said slowly. "Please, don't do that again."

Gavroche stretched his skinny body out across the sofa cushions in a way that reminded Éponine of a cat waking from slumber. "Why not?" he challenged, his eyes sparkling.

"Because you made me worry," Éponine snapped. "Gavroche, you're my little brother. I worried about you when we were alive, wondering where you were one night and who you could be with the next. I wasn't in a position, then, to actually act on that worry. Now I am and I don't want you wandering the streets like that anymore."

"It's safer here than Paris," Gavroche said.

"I don't care!" Éponine shouted. "I don't care, Gavroche. It's besides the point. You _knew _Paris, you knew it like the back of your hand and so did I. But this place – it is completely unfamiliar and it is like a maze. You could so easily have got lost and not been able to get home and we might not have been able to find you at all, Gavroche. So please, I ask you again, _do not wander off like that without telling me_."

Gavroche rolled onto his stomach. "I refuse to stay inside all day," he said.

"That's not what I'm asking, not at all," Éponine said. "I couldn't do that myself and I'd never ask you to do the same. I'm just asking for some consideration – bear me in mind before you run off like that. You're not living alone anymore, Gavroche. We're here together."

This time, her brother stayed silent. She sighed and crossed the room, kneeling down next to the sofa. She reached out one hand, intending to smooth it over her hair, but the gesture felt completely foreign so instead she dug her fingers into the cushion of the sofa.

"How about," she said slowly, "We come to some kind of…arrangement."

He turned his head to look at her, his lips set into a thin line.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by the cushion beneath his head.

"You can go for your walks during the day," she said. "But you don't go too far from here. If you want to go further, I can come with you, or we can find someone to come with you. But during the night, we both come back here and stay here. How does that sound?"

Minutes ticked by as Gavroche considered this offer. Eventually, he said, "I think I could deal with that."

Éponine smiled.

XXX

Another day passed. Gavroche did not get the time to wander, because Éponine insisted he help her furnish their apartment. By the time the day was out, they had two beds – both of them large and incredibly soft – as well as a table, some chairs, and decorative pieces that Éponine had wanted such as curtains for the window. She also created a mirror for their wall. Éponine conjured a dressing table and stool for her room, and they both made a wardrobe for themselves. They had discussed creating a kitchen area, but didn't see the point if they wouldn't be doing any cooking.

Then, to surprise Gavroche, Éponine created some things to keep him occupied during the nights. This included a chess set (she didn't know how to play chess and she knew Gavroche wouldn't either, but she assumed one of the students would know), a deck of cards, and some marbles, as well as a chalkboard and chalk for him so she could start to teach him how to write.

As mentioned, the chess set was useless as neither of them knew how to play chess properly; she had been fascinated by a particularly fancy set she saw in a house her father and his gang had robbed, and she had replicated that one to the best of her ability. They'd got some fun out of the cards, but the marbles had so far only resulted in a violent missile game which led to Éponine barricading herself in her room.

She hadn't broached the subject of teaching him to write yet, so the chalkboard remained in her room, tucked under her bed.

XXX

On the third day, a couple of the students visited – Courfeyrac and Prouvaire. They wanted to know if there was anything they could do to help.

Courfeyrac showed Gavroche and Éponine how to play chess, whilst Prouvaire spent his time creating a perfect bouquet of flowers and a vase to put on the table. Éponine was glad for the change of faces, and felt a little sad when they left.

Chess had been much more fun with Courfeyrac. The siblings tried to play a game once the pair of students had left, but when Gavroche began to lose he began to throw the chess pieces. This time, Éponine had refused to back down and she was eventually triumphant as Gavroche took refuge in his own bedroom.

XXX

But the next day, Gavroche's wanderings began, and Éponine was left alone.

She tidied at first, hunting down all the lost marbles and packing them away in their little box, and setting out the chess set on one of the shelves in the alcove. She plumped up all the cushions on the sofa, made her bed and Gavroche's, rearranged Prouvaire's gift of flowers. She wondered, as she ran her fingers over the soft petals, if these would die. Could things die in the afterlife?

She conjured herself a broom to sweep the wooden floors, even though they didn't need it. And then she had a go at conjuring food, choosing an apple. It tasted a bit sweet and there wasn't a core, but it satisfied her enough.

But then she was bored, lying on the sofa with her legs in odd positions, her fingers laced over her stomach.

She considered her ideas to teach Gavroche to write, and wondered if it would be best to teach him to read first. This led her to consider attempting to conjure a book of some kind. She thought about books she had heard of. Her mother liked to read, and although she preferred to read romances she did occasionally branch out. One of the last books Éponine could remember her mother reading was _Frankenstein, ou le Prométhée moderne_. She didn't know anything about the text itself, but it was the only thing that sprung to mind.

So to try and cure herself of her boredom, she decided to conjure that book. She could remember its cover well enough, so, based off that, she closed her eyes and envisioned the book.

It wasn't long before the slim book bound in black leather appeared in her palms. She opened it to the first page, expectant, but found it to be blank. Her heart sinking, a quick flick through the rest of it showed that all of the pages were pure white. She cursed. She must have needed to remember the text word for word!

In a temper, she flung the book onto the floor and enjoyed the dull thud that was created by it slapping into the wooden floorboards.

She felt like the book was staring at her. After a couple of minutes, she crawled off the sofa and sat, cross-legged on the floor. She opened the book, running her fingers over the smooth pages. Maybe it wasn't entirely useless, she mused, and found herself conjuring up a pencil.

She used to draw when she was a little girl. They had been quite good drawings, too, for a child, much more detailed than your average little girl's scribbles. She'd had no time to carry on pursuing this hobby when they lost the inn, but she found it quite easy to start sketching something onto the blank pages in the book.

She drew Gavroche's face from memory. It wasn't as good as she'd wanted it to be, but there was a near enough likeness that you could tell it was him.

But then her next decision was to start doodling, and to start writing. She let her mind go completely free, not really keeping a check on what she was putting down on paper. It didn't matter, she thought to herself; this book could become a little diary. She'd always found the idea of keeping a diary romantic.

She was scribbling down a picture of Marius, smiling handsomely, when she began to hear the voices.

She looked up from her notebook, wondering if Gavroche had returned from his wanderings, possibly with a student in tow. Or maybe it was Éléonore, coming to see how she was. Or could it be a neighbour?

Slowly, Éponine got to her feet and crossed the room to the window. She opened it and peered out onto the little landing outside her flat. There was no one there. She backed away from the window, confused. She could still hear the voices, and they were getting louder.

_"My dearest Cosette, I feel like I have known you all my life."_

The voice was all-too familiar for Éponine's ears. She would know Marius' voice anywhere.

_"I am the same. I think it is why I love you, and it's why I'm certain we're meant to be together." _The feminine response made Éponine grip the pencil in her hand so hard that it snapped.

Her eyes flickered around the room, wondering where this voice could have been coming from.

_"Must our wedding day be so far away?" _The words _wedding day _felt like a punch to Éponine's gut. Then her eyes fell on the mirror and it all became clear. She must have inadvertently created a Portal.

She could see Marius and Cosette, walking together through some gardens. Éponine padded closer to the mirror, and they grew closer to her. She could not deny, staring at them now, that they made a truly beautiful couple. The thought dashed through her head and she hated her mind for thinking it. And there was such love, glowing on their faces and sparkling in their eyes…

Éponine felt tears burning behind her own eyes. In the mirror, Cosette reached up to caress Marius' face. Marius smiled down at, smiling like in that picture she'd just drawn of him. Then the image before her rippled and faded away, until her own reflection was staring back. Her own ugly, gaunt, miserable reflection.

She whirled away from the mirror, too many feelings crowding all at once into her chest. She stared down into the book, and saw her affectionately drawn sketch of Marius, smiling broadly. He smiled at Cosette like that. Oh, and he'd smiled at Éponine like that too, once…In Éponine's favourite dreams.

In a temper, Éponine stooped down and snatched the book up off the floor. She stomped across the room to the window, which still stood open, and flung the book out onto the street.

She watched it fall away, and then a couple of moments later, a great shout of "_Ow_!" drifted through the window.

Éponine jerked forward, sticking her head out of the window to stare down onto the streets. Her stomach fell when she saw Enjolras stood there, rubbing his head and glaring up at her. The book lay, open and slightly torn, on the ground at his feet, Marius' face still smiling.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter, I really appreciate it :)**


	12. wandering

**12**

Éponine dashed to the door and flung it open, before hurrying down the many flights of stairs.

"I'm sorry," she called. "Enjolras, I am _so _sorry. I didn't know anyone was there, I didn't mean for it to hit you –"

To her horror, Enjolras was crouched down and had picked up her book. "It was completely careless," he said, his voice sharp. "Do you often go around throwing things out of windows?"

He was staring down at the book, at its front cover. He raised his eyebrows. "_Frankenstein_," he said. "I never liked the book much, either, but there's no need to throw it out of the window – it's not that bad…"

Then he flicked through it. She winced as he stopped on the page with Marius' face. Before he could look at it any closer, she snatched the book out of his hands.

"That's private," she snapped.

"Then you shouldn't have thrown it onto a public street," Enjolras said, staring up at her apartment. He rubbed the back of his head absently. She was grateful that he didn't comment on the picture he'd just seen – that would have made the whole situation just that little bit more embarrassing. She clutched the book to her chest.

"So this is where you live," Enjolras said.

Éponine nodded in response and pursed her lips.

"It looks very different to our apartment," he said, but it was almost as if he was talking to someone else rather than to the girl stood beside him.

Éponine tucked some hair behind her ear. "Would you like to come inside? For a drink, maybe?" Guilt for throwing her book at Enjolras' head made those words come out, and she instantly wished she could take them back.

Enjolras turned away from the flat, but still didn't look at her. "No, thank you," he said. "I do not need to drink anything."

"It's quite nice to, though," Éponine countered, backing away towards her apartment. She didn't know why she said that – she was glad he had turned her offer down. "I will see you soon, _monsieur_."

"_Au revoir_," he said.

He still wasn't looking at her, not even to say goodbye. This irritated Éponine more than she'd want to admit. What would he do if the book were to hit him in the head, she mused, as she climbed the stairs back to her apartment. She glanced over her shoulder and Enjolras was already walking away.

Back inside the apartment, she sat on the couch with the book on her knees. She drummed her fingers on top, and before she could stop herself, she flipped the book open. She stroked her fingers over the sketch of Marius, and sighed.

She thought back to the lovely words he had said to her as he held her. She was dying in his arms, and he comforted her, made sure she wasn't alone. And in those moments, she could have sworn that he loved her too.

Seeing him in those gardens, arm in arm with the lovely Cosette, had brought it all home for her.

Marius didn't love her. He loved Cosette. He had never loved Éponine; she could see that now.

She felt like her throat was closing, so she shut the book along with it. Her eyes closed, and the tears that had been welling up as she looked at her sketch finally spilled over. One tear rolled down her cheek, and dripped off her chin onto the book's leather-bound cover.

She angrily swiped at her cheeks with her hands and smeared the tear on the book. She forced herself to stand and went back over to the door; opening it, she slipped outside and back down the stairs to the large bin outside.

She opened the lid, and taking in a big breath, she dropped the book inside and made a mental vow never to let her mind wander when doodling again.

XXX

She didn't think she could face the boredom of the flat again, so instead, she decided to go for a walk. She conjured herself a shawl to wrap around her shoulders before setting off in the opposite direction that Enjolras had.

She made a mental note of the route she was taking, memorising things such as street names and landmarks. It had been such a long time since she'd had to do anything like this considering she'd known Paris like the back of her hand. Those streets were so familiar to her she didn't even have to think about where she was going; the paths she took around the city were ingrained so firmly into her mind she probably could have run from the Café Musain to Gorbeau House with her eyes closed.

What struck her about her surroundings was the lack of definition between the areas. They were all the same – the buildings all similar in structure, the people inhabiting them all looked and dressed similarly, and everything was a lot cleaner than Paris had ever been. During her walks she had not come across any single area which could have resembled a slum, and only a couple of houses that resembled mansions. The biggest break in the scenery was when she reached a collection of shops. She wasn't sure how they functioned exactly considering there was no such thing as money here, but she was sure that was something she could explore on a different day.

It was in this area that she found the library. It was quite a grand building, with marble pillars on the front and a fountain outside. There were children running around the fountain, splashing amongst the water.

She remembered her desire earlier in the day to read and wondered whether the library might have some literature, so she climbed the flight of steps and walked inside. The building inside was cool and nearly completely silent; it had marble floors so shiny they resembled a mirror, and a long square desk area behind which a variety of different people sat. Beyond them were rows and rows of bookshelves, more than she'd ever seen in her entire life. And there were even stairs going up. She'd seen from the outside that this library had over five floors, so she couldn't imagine the sheer amount of books in this one building.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if the mother from her childhood, who loved romance novels so much, would have been at heaven amongst all these bookshelves.

She realised she'd been stood in the doorway for a good few minutes by the way the people behind the desk were staring at her. "Can we help you?" demanded an elderly woman who somewhat resembled a toad. She had a thin, pale pink cut along one of her cheeks and the cut of her green dress revealed faint bruises on her neck.

"Just looking," Éponine said. "Or, I will be."

"Shh," the woman said. "Whisper. This is a _library_, people are trying to read."

Éponine hugged her shawl tighter around herself and walked past the desks, disappearing into the bookshelves.

XXX

Navigating the library was like navigating the streets of this world. It was like a maze, and everything looked the same and yet different at the same time. She wandered the library for a very long time, not picking anything out but running her fingers over the spines and mouthing their titles to herself.

She went to walk around the edge of one of the aisles and into the next when she bumped into a man doing the same thing.

"I am so sorry, _mademoiselle_," the man said. It was Combeferre. He had his coat over one arm and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows. He looked about as lost as she felt.

"Combeferre," she said, brightly. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Nor me you," he said, giving her a smile. "I found myself to be rather bored and thought that I'd go for a walk. I was very happy to find this place, but…"

"It's too big, isn't it?" she said, nodding in an understanding manner.

Combeferre shook his head. "Ah, no, it's not that, _mademoiselle_. I'm actually quite happy with the amount of books on offer. It's just – well, I've been in this library for nearly three hours now and I've yet to find a book I recognise. I've seen the names of authors that are familiar to me, but the titles themselves – I've never heard of any of the texts in this library. It's very…"

"Curious?" Éponine supplied. "You know, today, I tried to conjure myself a book to read."

"Oh?" Combeferre raised his eyebrows. "The thought hadn't occurred to me. How did it go?"

"Not well," Éponine admitted. "The pages were blank."

"That is a shame." Combeferre ran a hand through his hair. "A real shame. I was looking forward to reading a favourite novel of mine, but…" He shrugged. "I suppose I'll just have to pick up something new, won't I?"

"It would look that way," Éponine said.

"I wonder if the people at the desk could recommend something," Combeferre mused, resting one shoulder against the bookshelf beside him.

"They didn't look very accommodating when I came in," Éponine said.

"Did they snap at you as well? What did you do?" Combeferre grinned at her. "I tripped. Apparently you're not allowed to trip in a library."

"I was amazed because I'd never seen so many books in one place before," she replied. "Apparently, that's not allowed either."

"So many rules." Combeferre took his coat off his arm and shrugged himself into it. "Shall we go and find some books, then?"

He offered his arm to her. Éponine didn't think a man had ever offered his arm to her like that before. She hesitated a few moments before she wrapped her hand around his elbow, and returned his smile to the best of her ability.

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews/alerts/favourites, I really appreciate it :)**


	13. confide

**13**

Enquiring at the desk, Éponine and Combeferre learned that whilst there were thousands of books in this library they would not find one from the living world.

A man who was a lot kindlier than the toad-faced woman that had spoken to Éponine explained this. He had a shock of flyaway white hair, big, pale blue eyes and was missing one of his front teeth. He explained to them that, although there were famous writers living here, they were unable to recreate their more famous texts word for word, although summary texts were available if they wanted them.

He also said that the majority of the texts in the library were fictional, but he could direct them to the non-fiction section if they so desired.

Combeferre said he did desire that, and the elderly gentleman led them down a flight of stairs into a basement.

There were more shelves here, but the room was smaller and felt a lot more cramped. It also smelled dusty and old, and Éponine suspected that this wasn't the most popular section.

"My name is Etienne," the man said.

"Etienne, why is the non-fictional so unpopular here?" Combeferre asked, looking confused.

"Oh, I don't know," Etienne replied. "I have wondered if it's because it's not relevant. History matters not to us unless it is the history of this place; and the sciences are irrelevant. Writing is a popular venture for the inhabitants of this world to keep themselves occupied, and it just seems that they veer towards the fictional every time."

"So there are books here, on…on this world?" Combeferre asked. They paused a moment as Etienne shoved his shoulder against a rather squat door. It opened with a rough chafing sound as the door scraped along the stone floor.

"Yes, of course." Etienne had showed them into another room – still quite large, but compared to the rest of the library it was a lot smaller. "A lot of it, actually. This place brings out people's curiosity, as you can imagine. If you are interested, _monsieur_, I recommend the works of Clémence Lefèbvre. She writes an ongoing text on this entire world. It's updated in volumes, we get a new one every six months. She's been here for an awful long time and it's an amalgamation of everything she has learned about this world with contributions from people she meets. A fascinating woman, fascinating…"

"Well, seeing as you don't have what I was looking for, I'll certainly take a chance on reading some of Madame Lefèbvre's works. Should I start at the beginning?"

Etienne led them to a shelf lined with quite thin books bound in read leather. They had the lady's surname printed on the side in gold, and the number of the volume.

"You can take the first three, and come back for the rest when you've finished them," Etienne said, plucking the books from their respective positions on the shelves. He handed them to Combeferre, who gently pulled away from Éponine to take them.

"Thank you, _monsieur_," Combeferre said, looking down at the books in his hands. "I'm sure they'll keep me occupied for a couple of days at least."

"Come with me, then, and I'll process it for you."

XXX

Éponine decided to go back to the library at a later date to get a book for Gavroche's reading lessons. Once Etienne had made a record of Combeferre's name and address and the titles of the books he had taken, they left the library.

"So how are you settling in, Éponine?" Combeferre said. "Courfeyrac and Jehan told me that they'd been to visit the other day…"

"Jehan?" Éponine glanced up at him. "Oh, you mean Prouvaire. Yes, they did come to visit – I think for Gavroche's benefit."

"How is he doing since the other day?"

Éponine shrugged. They were walking at a slow, leisurely pace away from the library. "Better. We had a talk and we've come to an agreement. He can wander during the day as long as he's back by night. This is the first day we've really tried it, though. I hope he sticks to his word."

"I'm sure he will," Combeferre said. "And it's good he's better."

"What about Enjolras?" Éponine folded her hands behind her back. "How has he been? I saw him today…" She explained about her throwing the book out of the window, but left out the precise details of _what _the book had been exactly and why she had thrown it.

Combeferre gave a heavy sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes had suddenly darkened and become very serious indeed, his mouth thinning into a straight line. "He isn't adjusting very well," he said, his voice slow. "Everyone else seem to be settling in to this place in their own little ways – Feuilly's been painting on the streets and he loves it, Joly's thrilled there's no disease and Bossuet has never been this happy, it's impossible for him to hurt himself here – and other things, of course. Me, I admit this place isn't _ideal _but I do find it fascinating and it makes a nice change. But Enjolras…It's like he's lost something, Éponine. And what's more, it's like he doesn't know what to do with himself. It worries me, I won't lie. I'm not used to seeing Enjolras like this. He's always been so…"

"Determined?" Éponine suggested.

"That's one word for it." Combeferre adjusted the books he had tucked under one arm. "He goes for walks every day. He comes back at odd times, not always at night. Shuts himself in his room. I don't know what he's doing if he's doing anything at all. And then there's Grantaire."

"Grantaire," she said. "I think I've spoken to him before. What has happened?"

"We don't know," Combeferre responded. "That's the point. We haven't seen him since we left the Guardian's building. Now, the others have been in and out of various bars and inns and what have you around this place and sometimes – just sometimes – they catch a glimpse of him, but then he's gone. He won't speak to any of them when they shout for him. I know he's probably fine, but…"

"Could he have…you know, done that thing," Éponine suggested. "Like Éléonore said – when people just disappear one day?"

"He could have, but I doubt it. I don't _feel _like he's gone anywhere. I just think he wants to avoid us all. It's sad, because we're all worried about him. I just want to talk to him and see if he is all right, that's all."

Éponine patted him on the elbow. "I'm sure he'll come round eventually," she said. "Just give him time. Both of them, actually, Enjolras as well."

"I know, I know." Combeferre managed a small smile. "You know, it's been me saying that to everyone else for the past few days. It feels strange to have it said to me."

"It feels strange to be saying it to you, if that's any consolation." Éponine played with the fringe on her shawl.

"Anyway, that's enough about me," Combeferre said. "What about you? That's how this conversation started and I don't remember getting a proper answer…"

"Me?" Éponine tucked hair behind her ear. "I'm okay. Very, very bored, hence why I went for a walk. I actually spent the morning drawing but it didn't end very well for me. I ended up seeing a Portal."

She didn't know why she was telling him this.

Combeferre paused in walking for the briefest of seconds. "Did you?" he said, obviously trying to keep his voice casual.

"Yes. I saw Marius and Cosette, walking together," she said, trying to do the same with her voice. "It was obvious they loved each other. I got a bit angry. Hence why the book went out of the window."

Combeferre winced. "Ah. I can understand why that was a bit…"

"It was a bit of a kick in the teeth, I won't lie," Éponine muttered. "And I hope I don't see one again."

"I hope so, too," Combeferre said. "I must admit, the idea of these Portals fascinates me and I almost want to see one. But Éléonore's warnings…"

"I can't understand how someone could become addicted to those things," Éponine said, shaking her head.

"Maybe that's because the ones you've seen so far have all been things that upset you," Combeferre suggested. "That's a possibility, don't you think? If you saw _positive _things – say, you were seeing your child, happy, doing something they enjoyed, you might want to see it as much as you could…"

"Maybe," Éponine allowed. "I hadn't thought of it like that." _Maybe because there was little positivity in her life_, she thought to herself.

She realised that they had reached her apartment. She paused outside. "This is where I live," she said, gesturing up at the house.

"The next time I see you I'll be sure to show you where I live too," Combeferre smiled. "You're always welcome to come and visit, and Gavroche as well."

"You too," Éponine said.

The sky was beginning to darken. She'd notice that night fell swiftly here. Combeferre glanced around them, and nodded at her.

"I'll go now," he said. "I'm meeting Éléonore tonight for drinks, and we're supposed to be meeting just after sundown. I'm afraid I might be late."

"I'd hurry, then," Éponine replied. She watched him walk away with a smile on her lips, and once he was out of sight, she climbed the stairs and let herself into her flat.

She got inside to find Gavroche sat cross-legged on the floor, using the chess pieces to re-enact some battle of his own invention. She pulled off her shawl as she came through the door.

"It's not night time _just_ yet," she said, instead of hello.

"I was bored," Gavroche said, smacking one of the knights into a king.

"You too?" She joined him on the floor, her skirts pooling around her. "That made two of us. That's why I went for a walk."

He glanced up at her. He pulled a face. Then he was shoving a queen into her hand and telling her to join in.

So she did.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews/alerts/favourites, I really appreciate it :)**


	14. scum

**14**

The days became monotonous.

They were all the same if she stayed inside. Cleaning, lounging around, conjuring things that she changed her mind about ten minutes later. One day, Courfeyrac turned up and had lunch with her and Gavroche, and that made a nice change, but that was only the once.

So Éponine took to wandering the streets during the day just as her brother did. Staying in the apartment all day and then all night was just too much, but spending the day outside and returning at night made the monotony just a little easier.

Some days she would meet up with Combeferre and they would go to the library. She discovered an author she became quite fond of who wrote romantic mystery novels and they kept her nights occupied. Combeferre was slowly working his way through the works of Clémence Lefèbvre.

"It's a shame Enjolras is being so introverted lately," Combeferre confided in her, "Because I think he'd find these books really interesting."

Éponine herself tried reading Clémence Lefèbvre's first volume but she didn't find it as interesting as her mystery novels.

There was one day when Combeferre was meeting up with Éléonore and Éponine decided to go to the library herself. She'd reached the end of her mystery novel series and wanted to try and find something new, and she had to return her book at the same time.

She'd thought she had become quite used to the unfamiliar streets here, but on this particular day she had to admit quite quickly she'd managed to get herself lost. She wasn't sure where she'd gone wrong, whether she'd made a wrong turn at some point or just missed one.

She set about trying to right her mistake and get back onto a track she recognised, but it was not so easy.

"How have you managed to do this, Éponine?" she said out loud to herself, hugging her book to her chest. "Idiot…Stupid, _so _stupid…"

"Do you need some help, _mademoiselle_?"

She stopped and turned to face the man who had spoken. She'd spotted him as she'd turned up the street but she'd paid him no heed. He was tall and very thin, wearing black clothes that hung off his near skeletal frame. He was wearing a green cap and she saw his face and knew him instantly.

His name was Douvillier. She had been fourteen when she had last seen him. He had borrowed money off her father, which made him an idiot as far as she was concerned, and he hadn't been able to pay him back. He'd been punished for that, oh yes; her father had Montparnasse slash Douvillier's face twice in the shape of a cross. She'd been witness to that but she'd run off before the aftermath which she'd assumed was a beating.

She hadn't seen him around much afterwards, but when she had she'd seen the gashes on his face heal but leave a permanent scar, a constant reminder of the time he crossed her father. He'd died of some illness, she'd heard later. Her father had been bitter about his death because he'd never got all of his money back.

"If it isn't Thenardier's oldest brat," Douvillier said, his mouth stretching into a grimace of a smile. "What brings you here?" His eyes drifted to her destroyed hand. "Always wondered if I'd see one of you Thenardiers here. I'd hoped it'd be your father."

Éponine took a step backwards. "You know him," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "Slicker than grease, is my father. He'll outlive the best of them."

"He ruined my life," Douvillier hissed, pushing off the wall. "He ruined my life!"

"You shouldn't have borrowed money off him," Éponine snapped. "Only a fool borrowed money off him, everyone knew that!"

"I lost everything," Douvillier snarled, walking towards her. Éponine had never been one to run away so instead of moving she let him draw level with her, get in her face. "I lost _everything _because of your father and that gang of his!"

"It has nothing to do with me, _monsieur_," Éponine said, her voice snapping. "Do you understand? I have _nothing _to do with what my father did to you. So, if you don't mind –"

She turned to try and walk away but Douvillier's hand reached up and grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm.

"You can make it up to me," he said suggestively, looming over her.

Éponine was not an idiot. She'd had suggestions given to her like this before when she was alive. She knew what he meant.

But she was not alive, and she was not living the life of Éponine Thenardier anymore. Here, she was simply _Éponine_, Éponine who had her own apartment to call home and a brother to look after, Éponine who was actually respectable and didn't occupy her time stealing things but reading books.

"Take your hand off me, _monsieur_," she said, her eyes flickering from his hand to Douvillier's face. "I am not making up for the actions of my father."

His hand tightened, twisted her arm further. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable and put the rest of her body in an awkward position.

"Come on, Éponine," Douvillier whispered. His eyes trailed over her body. "You were a child when I last saw you…" His tongue flicked out, wet his lips. "You're not a child anymore…"

Éponine looked up at him with unimpressed eyes.

"You're still scum, though, Douvillier," she said.

He raised his other hand. She knew he probably intended to smack her across the face, but she was one step ahead of him. In her other hand she still held quite a heavy, hardback book, and she hit him in the temple with one of its sharp corners.

It was enough to shock him and send him stumbling away, his cap falling off. He released her, and she picked up her skirts and hurried off down the street.

She barely realised that she was running until she heard someone shouting her name. That was when she noticed her feet were going too fast.

"Éponine! _Mademoiselle_!"

She almost began to run faster until she realised that it was not Douvillier who was shouting her but somebody else.

She stopped, turning her body towards the wall of the nearest building and leaning her back against it.

Enjolras was walking towards her, a perplexed expression on his face. "Is everything all right, _mademoiselle_?" he said.

"I'll be fine in a moment, _monsieur_," she replied, watching over his shoulder for Douvillier. "I ran into an old acquaintance of my father's. He wasn't very happy."

She tried to meet Enjolras' eyes, then, but as usual he was looking at some spot just above her head. She felt like kicking him in the shins.

"Did he hurt you?" Enjolras asked.

"Of course not," Éponine said, shaking her head. "I think he intended me to sleep with him but…" She gestured with the book in her hand. "I hit him with this and he let go of me."

"You should be more careful, _mademoiselle_," he said, voice seeming to verge on an exasperated sigh.

"I got lost," Éponine snapped. "I thought he was offering me directions. It's just unfortunate that we happened to have already met and he hated my father."

"Don't you usually walk with Combeferre?"

Éponine rolled her eyes. "Yes, but he's with Éléonore."

"Where were you heading? I can walk you there," Enjolras suggested. "In case that man – whoever he is – shows his face."

"You really don't need to," Éponine said, smoothing down her skirts. "Yes, Combeferre normally walks with me, but I have also walked plenty of times alone and have never run into trouble. This place is a haven compared to Paris, anyway."

Enjolras didn't move. He tucked his hands into the pocket of his trousers, and lowered his eyes to hers. But it was only for the briefest of seconds, and then his eyes were off looking down the street.

"Still, _mademoiselle_," he said. "Let me walk you to wherever you're going."

She was about to say no again when she thought she saw Douvillier emerge from the street opposite. It wasn't him – it was just another very thin man who happened to own a green hat – but it was enough to make her body start.

She ran a shaky hand over her hair. "All right."

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews/alerts/favourites, I really appreciate it :)**


	15. irritation

**15**

They walked in silence at first. Éponine had become quite used to silence when she was by herself, but things were rarely quiet when left alone with Gavroche or Courfeyrac or Jehan, and her walks with Combeferre were usually filled with conversation.

So to have company for once, and not speaking, felt unusual and more than a little awkward for Éponine. Enjolras, for his part, didn't seem to mind; he kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead of them and there was no expression on his face that would suggest he felt uncomfortable walking by her side.

Despite this, Éponine felt her mouth moving before she could stop it. "So, how are you, _monsieur_?" she asked.

His head twitched, almost as if his first reaction had been to look at her as he replied. But his head never turned completely.

"I'm fine," he said, voice a little crisp and more than a little wary. "Yourself?"

"Bored," she replied. "Very bored. There's not much to do here, is there?"

"There is if you're artistic," Enjolras said. "I have noticed that art in most of its forms is quite popular here."

She shrugged. "I like the library."

"I've been in there a couple of times," he said. "I'm not thrilled by their selection."

"Because it is unfamiliar or mostly fiction?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Both."

"Well, I enjoy it," she said, with another shrug. She gestured to the book in her hands. "I'm returning this, actually."

His eyes slid towards the book for the briefest of seconds. "What sort of book is that?"

"A mystery novel," Éponine smiled. "They're very entertaining. They're about this woman detective named Élodie…"

Enjolras cleared his throat. "Combeferre and yourself have been spending a lot of time together," he said slowly. "He spends a lot of time in the library these days, doesn't he?"

"He's working his way through the works of Clémence Lefebvre," Éponine said, "And she's written quite a lot, so yes, he does."

"And he spends more and more time with that Guardian," Enjolras muttered, under his breath. Éponine wasn't entirely sure he was aware she'd heard that comment.

"Is there an issue with this, _monsieur_?" she said, keeping her tone mild.

In the first proper sign of agitation she'd seen from the man since he'd died, Enjolras raked his hand through his blond curls. "Not really," he said tightly.

Éponine raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?" She ran her thumb down the spine of the book and waited for him to answer her.

After a few minutes, it was clear that Enjolras had no intention of replying and had returned to just staring ahead with very little expression on his handsome face.

"_Monsieur_," Éponine prompted. "Enjolras."

His head twitched again but this time he turned to look at her. Still not quite in the eye, she thought to herself, but it was better than nothing.

"It's rude to ignore someone's question," Éponine said.

A wince passed over Enjolras' face. "My apologies, _mademoiselle_," he said. "I was thinking…"

Éponine felt unimpressed, but then he was actually talking.

"It's just – I don't understand how they can all move on so fast," he burst out, all of a sudden. "We're _dead _and they're all having the time of their lives. Do you know more than half of them barely leave the cafés and bars around here? They're getting drunk every evening – I swear, Courfeyrac is becoming worse than Grantaire ever was – and they're in the beds of different women every night. It's worse than when they were alive!"

Once he had finished speaking, Éponine noticed he looked a little embarrassed by his outburst and there was a flush over his cheeks.

"Just because you're not interested in those activities yourself, _monsieur_, doesn't make them _wrong_," Éponine said quietly. "The thing is, they're enjoying themselves. Have you ever wondered if they're just taking advantage of the fact they don't _have _to do anything here?"

"It's not very productive," he sniffed in response.

"Neither is aimlessly wandering the streets alone, but that hasn't stopped you," Éponine said sharply. "Maybe the drinking is _their _coping mechanism, just as yours seems to be burying your head in the sand."

Anger flashed in Enjolras' eyes. "Now who is being rude?"

"I'm not being rude, _monsieur_, I'm being honest." They had reached the library, and stopped at the foot of the steps. "I think you're being a little unfair on your friends. Everyone reacts to things differently. If you don't enjoy it here – if you're struggling to move on, as you put it – that is _your _problem. Isn't it a good thing if they feel happy, _monsieur_?"

His eyes narrowed and focused in on some spot above her head. The urge to kick him was strong.

"I am not irritated by their happiness," he said.

No, she thought to herself. You're irritated because they don't feel the same as you. But she didn't think expressing that thought out loud would please him, so instead she shrugged.

"I'm going to return this book now, _monsieur_," she said. "_Au revoir_."

She was about fifteen minutes in the library. She hadn't intended on getting another book out, but one of the girls who worked there recommended a lengthy, brick-like romance novel so she hunted that down to keep her occupied for the next few days.

To her surprise, Enjolras was still stood outside the library in the spot she'd left him when she came out.

"What are you still doing here?" she said.

"I couldn't leave you to walk back by yourself," he said. "It wouldn't have been fair, especially not if that man was still sniffing around."

They began to walk again, once more in silence. This time the silence was even more uncomfortable and heavy than it had been before, their previous conversation hanging between them.

Clearing her throat, Éponine said, "Have you heard anything from Grantaire?"

Enjolras sighed. "No. Not much. I've spoken to some of the others about it and apparently they've spotted him whilst they've been out but he makes himself scarce when any of them try and talk to him."

"That's not good," Éponine said, unsure of what else she could say. "So he's definitely avoiding everyone…"

"Yes, and none of us can really think why." There was a definitely perplexed look on Enjolras' face as he spoke. "I mean, the activities he is engaging in are no different to that of any of our friends at the minute, with the exception of myself and Combeferre. He'd fit right in."

"You know, it never occurred to me that I could go out and drink," Éponine said. "Not until you mentioned it before."

Enjolras' step faltered for the briefest of seconds. "Do you fancy joining them?" he enquired.

"It's definitely an option," Éponine said. Now she was thinking about it, the idea was becoming more and more welcoming in her head. It'd be nice to do something completely different for once. "I'm sure Gavroche could fend for himself for a night, don't you think?"

Enjolras didn't say anything. She noticed that his eyes were fixed upon the pavement beneath their feet.

The rest of their walk passed in silence. It was awkward still, but Éponine couldn't think of anything to fill the silence with. Once they were stood outside her apartment, the pair stood facing each other – her trying to catch his eye, and him determinedly looking at anything else but her.

"Thank you for walking with me," Éponine sighed. "It's appreciated."

"You're welcome," he said. "Be careful in future."

"Oh, I'll definitely be keeping an eye on where I'm going the next time I'm out," she assured him. "Also, _monsieur_…Could you do me a favour?"

He inclined his head.

"Please could you tell your friends that I wouldn't mind joining them this evening?" she requested. "If you see them, of course."

There was a pause before Enjolras said, "Yes, _mademoiselle_. I can do that for you."

"Thank you."

And with that, the pair said their goodbyes, and Éponine climbed the stairs to her apartment, feeling some excitement at the prospect of an evening outside her home.


	16. bliss

**16**

It wasn't long after night fell that there was a knock at her door.

She had just been conjuring some chocolate cake for Gavroche when she heard it. Gavroche answered, and a second later she heard his excited, "_Courf_!"

She abandoned the cake without conjuring proper icing on top and wandered over to the door. The students were piling themselves into her flat – Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, as well as Bahorel and Feuilly.

"Hello," she said.

"Enjolras passed on your message," Courfeyrac said brightly. "Are you still wanting to come out with us?"

Éponine hadn't quite forgotten the request, but she also hadn't been preparing to go out. "Do you mind, Gavroche?"

"Can I come?" he said, as Courfeyrac squatted so Gavroche could climb onto his back.

"No," she said. "You can stay in."

Gavroche pouted, resting his chin on Courfeyrac's shoulders. "But I have nothing to do here," he said.

"I'm sure you can find something to occupy yourself," Éponine said, crossing the room back to the cake. She squinted down at it. "Gavroche, how important is the icing on this cake?"

"Very," Gavroche replied, still pouting, as Courfeyrac began to spin in circles.

Bahorel and Feuilly had flung themselves down onto Éponine's sofa, whilst Prouvaire was fiddling with the bouquet of flowers on the table. "There aren't enough colours," he announced, staring at the mass of red, and promptly began to conjure purple tulips and white roses to add to her arrangement. He did this every time he visited their apartment.

The students waited as Éponine conjured a bowlful of icing and a pallet knife to smear the icing over the top of the cake. She'd been conjuring a lot of cakes since she'd arrived here in her spare time but she still didn't know how to ice the cake in a neat fashion.

She gave up when she realised she was forcing the top of the cake to crumble and mix with the icing and dumped the pallet knife in the sink. She wiped her hands on a towel and turned to face the room, feeling somewhat triumphant.

"Are you ready to go?" Courfeyrac said, from where he was lying face down on the carpet with Gavroche sat cross-legged on his back.

"Ready to go when you are," she confirmed.

"C'mon, Gavroche, get off me," Courfeyrac said, as the other men in the room assembled near the door. They all filed out and Éponine crouched to say goodbye to her brother.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" she asked, fussing with his shirt.

There was a mischievous glint in Gavroche's eye. "I'll be fine," he assured her. "I can think of some things I can do."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "I'd better come back and find the flat in one piece," she warned.

Gavroche tried, and failed, to look innocent. She rolled her eyes and bade him goodbye before following the students out of the flat onto the street.

"We had been wondering whether to ask you to come with us or not," Courfeyrac said to her, almost bouncing like a puppy. "Are you excited?"

"I suppose I am," she said, amused by his childlike excitement.

"I'm sure Gavroche will be fine," Prouvaire piped up in a gentle voice.

"He'll probably stuff his face with chocolate cake," Courfeyrac said.

"As long as he doesn't make a mess, I don't mind."

It took them a few minutes to walk to the inn that the men wanted to drink in that night. It was like returning to being a young child for Éponine: it was like returning to the inn at Montfermeil. At first, she felt a little uncomfortable amongst the rabble; it felt like she would turn around and see one of her father's lackeys at any moment in time.

Sensing her discomfort, Courfeyrac did her the gentlemanly thing and got her a drink. As there was no need to pay, the drink was supplied in barrels with glasses stacked next to them so you could help yourself to the drink whenever you wanted one.

Courfeyrac handed her the glass nearly overflowing with drink. "They call this Bliss," he explained. "It's the nearest thing to alcohol you find here."

Éponine stared down at the clear liquid that looked like water. "Bliss?" she said, her tone dubious.

"Try it," Courfeyrac said, his eyes twinkling.

She took a sip. Then another, and another, and another, and before she knew it, the glass was empty. It tasted like all her favourite things at once – fruity and sweet and a little bit sour – and it went down possibly too easily. The more she drank, the more she felt herself changing with the drink.

An odd feeling swept over her body. She felt lighter than air; her mind was working very quickly, perhaps too quickly, but it also felt clear. Nothing in her mind seemed crazy, and nothing seemed impossible. Any worries she had melted away completely as euphoria completely took over her body.

"It's good, isn't it?" Courfeyrac said with a knowing grin, taking a more measured swig from his own glass of Bliss.

Feeling a little breathless in her giddiness, she said to him, "I can see why you spend so much time here."

There was a sparkling look of joy in Courfeyrac's eyes at her words. "You've been talking to Enjolras, haven't you?" he said, his grin growing even wider. "He disapproves, doesn't he? I wish he'd let loose and join us. He might even enjoy himself."

"Smuggle some of this into his food," Éponine suggested, wiping her finger around the bottom of her glass before sucking the Bliss from her fingertip.

Courfeyrac watched her with amusement. "Would you like another glass?" he offered, and she nodded eagerly.

The second glass gave way to a third and then a fourth, and by then Éponine was definitely feeling like she was on another planet altogether. She felt like she was flying, in a strange way; she had the disorientated feeling of someone who was incredibly drunk, but without the accompanying nausea or slurring or falling over. She was deliriously _happy_. It was so much more pleasant than feeling drunk.

This also put her at ease with the inn itself when she realised that there were no fistfights here; there was a lot of dancing, a lot of shouting, a lot of singing, but no violence. No arguments. No cross words. Everyone was in the same state of euphoria as Éponine.

It wasn't long before Éponine was dancing with Feuilly, who seemed to be the happiest out of all of them, and then watching Courfeyrac and Bahorel do a little jig on top of their table, glasses in hand, Bliss sloshing everywhere.

Prouvaire had just spun her away from him when she spotted Grantaire seated at the bar, hunched over a glass.

She let her hand slip out of Prouvaire's and let herself be swallowed up by the crowd. She used her smaller size to weave through the crowds of people until she was beside Grantaire. Without speaking, she pulled herself up onto the stool next to him.

She still felt giddy, and one of her feet was tapping on the rungs of the stool beneath her feet. Her knees bounced up and down. It wasn't long before Grantaire turned his head to face her, black hair falling over his face.

Éponine wasn't sure she'd ever had a proper conversation with Grantaire when they'd been alive. She knew of him: she knew him as the drunk, the loudmouth, the cynical one who could occasionally rile Enjolras up into a near apoplectic rage. The times she'd been near him, she'd found him to be quite amusing, occasionally very witty, but with an edge of bitterness she could definitely identify with. She sensed in him something she knew was in herself, and that was the aura of someone who had not had the easiest of lives.

But looking at the man now, there was something different about him. His eyes weren't narrowed and cautious; they were wide open, very much the metaphorical windows to the soul. What's more, there was something very near to happiness in his face.

"Can I help you, _mademoiselle_?" he asked.

There was also no recognition in his eyes. Éponine couldn't be surprised. Even though her face was the same – still as gaunt – her body the same – just as skinny and underfed – and her hair the exact same colour – dark brown, like dirt – there were obvious differences. She was wearing a nice, plain, clean dress, and her face was not ingrained with dirt and grime. Her nails were cut short and scrubbed clean, and her hair was now smooth and shiny and there were no tangles in it. She looked respectable, smelled pleasant, and did not resemble the street urchin he would have known when he was alive.

"Just a conversation," she said, smiling at that him.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd be much happier dancing," he said, eyes twinkling. Yes, it was definitely the Bliss that had changed Grantaire; she couldn't remember a time she'd ever seen him look like that.

"Are you offering?" she asked, feeling bewildered at the change in this man. If it wasn't for the fact he _looked_ like Grantaire, and obviously _was_ Grantaire, she would have thought she was talking to a complete stranger.

"I might be," he said, the glass of Bliss hovering near his mouth. He raised it higher and took a sip. "Are you agreeing?"

She found herself giggling. It was the high-pitched titter she sometimes did unconsciously or, when her father had roped her into a job, the one she used on unsuspecting men to reassure them she wasn't about to steal their money.

At the sound of her laughter, Grantaire's face changed completely. Any trace of humour slipped, leaving a blank expression. The glass was placed back down on the bar top with a dull thud, and his eyes flickered from Éponine through the crowds of people. At that moment, Courfeyrac and Bahorel chose to hoist Prouvaire into the air, making them completely visible.

Grantaire's head whipped around. "You're Marius' shadow, aren't you?" Grantaire demanded. He let out a low laugh. "I didn't recognise you at first, but you laughed at damn near everything Pontmercy used to say."

Before she could say another word, Grantaire knocked back the remainder of his Bliss and slid down off his stool.

"Goodbye, _Mademoiselle _Jondrette," he said, his voice almost curt.

She watched him fight his way through the crowds of people as she slowly climbed down from the stool. As his broad form disappeared, she felt her good mood dip slightly.

But then Courfeyrac was there, pushing a larger glass of Bliss into her hands, and after downing that she could almost forget that she had ever seen Grantaire at all.


	17. kitten

**17**

A couple of days after the incident with Grantaire, Gavroche brought home a kitten.

It was tiny. Not just because it was a kitten, but because it was a very scrawny kitten with little to no fat on its body. Its fur was matted and dirty; the majority of it's body was white, although there was a black stretch of fur along its back, a splodge over one of its bright blue eyes and its ear, and it had black socks on its feet. The tip of its tail was black as well.

Gavroche brought it home, and the tiny beast was tucked away into Gavroche's jacket pocket. He presented Éponine with the cat with all the glee she would associate with a much older man presenting his true love with the most expensive diamond he could afford. But Éponine gazed upon this cat with something like horror.

She wasn't sure what it was. Was it the mangy appearance of the creature? Or was it the desperate look in its eyes as it wriggled, trying to escape the slightly too-tight way Gavroche was holding it just underneath its front legs?

"You're holding it wrong," was the first thing she said, remembering back to Montfermeil when they'd had a tabby cat. She reached down and adjusted Gavroche's grip, making him support the cat's back legs and cradle its body in the crook of his arm.

"Can I keep it?" Gavroche asked, voice high-pitched with excitement.

Éponine looked down at the poor creature, which was now meowing. It was one of the most pitiful, and irritating, noises that Éponine had ever heard.

"We don't need a cat," she said.

"I want it, though," Gavroche pouted. He squeezed the kitten a little too much and it squealed in response.

"Gav, don't hold it so tight," Éponine sighed. "It's not a toy. Give it here."

The kitten was incredibly light, and she could hold it in both of her hands quite comfortably. A quick examination told her the creature was female, and she stopped meowing the moment Éponine stroked a fingertip over its forehead.

She was actually quite cute, in an ugly kind of way; she desperately needed a wash, Éponine decided, and her fur needed all of the knots combing out of it.

"Where did you find her?" Éponine said, staring into the cat's bright eyes.

"Around," Gavroche said, vaguely. "Courfeyrac helped me catch it. He thought you might like it. Can I give it a name?"

"I've not decided if we're keeping _her_ yet, Gavroche," she said, although she had made up her mind. She'd need to have words with Courfeyrac at some point, though. "And I'm naming her."

Gavroche pouted. "But –"

"If I'm letting you keep her, I'm naming her," Éponine cut him off, giving him a very pointed look. "Conjure me a bath of warm water and some soap, will you?"

"What for?" Gavroche's face scrunched up in confusion. "It's a cat."

"Look at the state of her," Éponine said with a sigh. "Poor thing. She needs all of the knots sorting out and she's filthy, Gav. She needs a bath. Do as you're told."

With some grumbling, he began to conjure a small tin bath and a bar of soap. Éponine sat down on the sofa and rested the kitten on her knee. The small animal stood up on its skinny legs and turned a couple of times, eyes staring around the room and then finally stopping to look up at Éponine.

Giving a rather fierce looking yawn, the kitten sat down. She gave another one of her squeaky, high-pitched meows as if she was trying to say something to Éponine. In response, Éponine began to stroke the top of the kitten's head gently.

"It's done," Gavroche announced.

For such a small creature, it put up a huge fight against going in the tepid water. Her claws were very sharp and Éponine had never been more grateful for the lack of ability to be physically harmed in this world.

After a few moments of being immersed in the water, the kitten gave up its fight and allowed Éponine to wet its fur. She wasn't really sure how to go about this; she'd never washed a cat before, but she lathered the soap up between her hands and then began to rub it into the kitten's fur. The water turned murky as all of the dirt began to wash away. Conjuring a small, fine-toothed comb, Éponine set about brushing out all of the knots in the kitten's tangled fur. Some of them would not go, however, and she was forced to retrieve a knife from their kitchen to cut the knot away. The kitten seemed to enjoy the combing, her eyes going sleepy and a soft purr humming from her chest.

"Conjure me a towel, please," Éponine instructed Gavroche as she lifted the kitten out of the bath. Gavroche did as he was asked without speaking, and handed Éponine a white towel a few moments later. Éponine wrapped the small feline inside the towel and rubbed her fur gently to soak up some of the excess water.

Then she unwrapped the towel and let the kitten stand on all four feet in the middle of the room. With her fur wet, the animal looked even smaller and skinnier. There was an adorably bewildered expression on her little face, and the high-pitched meowing resumed.

"So we're keeping her," Gavroche said.

"I suppose so," Éponine replied as the kitten padded across the floor towards her. It boldly placed its two front feet on Éponine's knee and began to sniff her dress. "She is quite cute, now she's clean," Éponine said. "What to call you, though?"

She stared down into the little kitten's eyes. They were an unusual colour; blue, but a very bright blue, with almost a purple hue. Once more, she was reminded of a childhood in Montfermeil, of brightly coloured hyacinths growing in the woods near her parent's inn during the summer. Her favourite ones had always been the blue ones, although the shade often edged towards purple. Gazing into the kitten's eyes, Éponine felt herself fall a little bit in love.

"Hyacinthe," she said. "We're calling her Hyacinthe."

"_Hyacinthe_?" Gavroche scowled. "That's not a good name for a cat. That's not a good name at all!"

Éponine scooped little Hyacinthe up into her arms. Hyacinthe brushed her cheek against Éponine's; there was the damp from both the kitten's little nose and the water that was still on her fur, smeared across Éponine's cheek. Éponine found she didn't mind.

"Why, what would you suggest?" she challenged her brother. "I suppose you want to call it – Napoleon, or something like that."

Gavroche looked aghast. "I would _never_ call a cat _Napoleon_," he whispered, astounded that his sister would even make such a suggestion.

Éponine snorted. "Do you even know who Napoleon is?"

"Do you?" Gavroche shot back. His cheeks seemed to heat up at her questioning of his knowledge.

She shrugged. She knew, vaguely, who he was. Marius had known who he was, and she'd heard his name crop up at the meetings at the Café Musain. From what she'd gathered, Enjolras hadn't been very fond of Napoleon or something along those lines, and she was assuming Gavroche had picked up the disgust at the name from that.

The fact was, knowing who Napoleon was would never have kept Éponine alive on the streets so there was no need to understand what they were talking about.

She adjusted the kitten in her arms. "I think Hyacinthe is a perfectly acceptable name," she said. "It matches her eyes."

Gavroche's scowl only worsened. "It's a _girly _name."

"It's a _girl _cat," Éponine said with a roll of her eyes, and then Hyacinthe began to wriggle, desperately trying to escape Éponine's hold. "I think she wants to play," Éponine observed as the kitten began to swipe at Éponine's hand.

The scowl dropped from Gavroche's face to be replaced by a look of pure eagerness. "Can I conjure a ball or something?" he suggested.

"Of course," Éponine agreed. "But make sure it's small, she's only little."

The ball that Gavroche conjured was small indeed, red in colour, and seemed to send the kitten into throes of madness with how easily the ball flew across the wooden floorboards. The sight of Hyacinthe's prancing and rolling and swiping sent Gavroche into hysterics. But then the ball shot underneath the sofa and after watching Hyacinthe pace for a good five minutes waiting for the ball to return, Éponine gave in and conjured a ball of wool. She remembered her cat from Montfermeil had enjoyed playing with strings, even if you had to be careful they didn't swallow it.

Éponine showed Gavroche how to drag the string along the floor to make Hyacinthe follow it. Then she curled up on the sofa with one of her mystery books from the library, immersing herself in this other world whilst enjoying the rare, joyful sounds of her younger brother getting to behave like the child that he was, delighted over the kitten's playful antics.


	18. friends

**18**

The students all fell in love with Hyacinthe when they came over that evening. However, none adored the little kitten more than Gavroche; he announced to them all that he would no longer be alone in his explorations during the daytime. Éponine just hoped that he wouldn't lose Hyacinthe in carting her about the streets.

"What made you decide to keep her?" Combeferre asked in a low tone, watching Courfeyrac, Gavroche and Bahorel hide the string beneath a cushion so that Hyacinthe could watch it appear and reappear. The kitten was practically foaming at the mouth with curiosity over where the string was going.

"It made Gavroche so happy," Éponine shrugged. "He never got the chance to be a child the way I did. I didn't have _much_ of a childhood, but at least I had a few years. He never got that."

Combeferre bowed his head. "I see where you're coming from," he said.

"And," Éponine added, "I had a cat when I was little. Well, Azelma and I did. We used to dress it up in clothes. I loved it. I don't know where it went, though, when we lost the inn…"

It had always niggled at her, what had happened to that tabby cat. The reality was too horrible to think about, so she liked to think the cat found a cosy barn and lived out the rest of its life killing mice.

"I think it's a nice idea," Combeferre said, an amused smile breaking out across his face as Hyacinthe decided to abandon her attacks on the string and go for Bahorel's elbow instead. To his credit, the large and occasionally volatile man only winced and didn't try and remove the cat from his clothing.

"Nice?" Éponine said, uncertain of what he meant by that.

"Giving Gavroche something to focus on," Combeferre explained. "And, I suppose, it gives _you_ something to focus on…"

She shrugged. She wasn't entirely sure what he was getting at, but she decided to pretend she knew.

XXX

A week later, Éponine decided to go back to the inn she'd visited with Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly.

She'd been bored, and it was daytime, and she kept on remembering her interaction with Grantaire. She'd tried to push it to the back of her mind in the past week, but this was the first day that Gavroche had kept his promise and taken Hyacinthe out, so she had been completely unoccupied (she'd never thought a kitten could entertain her so much).

As it was daytime, the inn was much quieter than it had been the last time she'd visited. There were still revellers, of course, downing Bliss by the bucketful; but there weren't as many. She retrieved a glass from behind the bar and got herself some Bliss, before sitting on the same stool she'd sat on to talk to Grantaire.

She wasn't sure what exactly she was hoping for but she'd been there for an hour (and drunk two glasses of Bliss) when Grantaire made an appearance. He was completely alone. He did the same as her, getting a glass of Bliss and sitting down. This time, however, he avoided the bar and sat at a table nearby.

She stared at him, wondering whether or not to speak to him. But then he twisted his head and rolled his eyes in her direction.

"Yes, I saw you, Éponine," he said. "Come over if you must."

Éponine slid down off the stool without needing anymore prompting and joined him at his table.

He hadn't touched his Bliss yet. Unfortunately for him, the two glasses of Bliss she'd already downed had made her tongue looser than normal. "Why are you avoiding all your friends?"

"Sorry?" Grantaire sounded surprised by her bluntness.

"You're avoiding your friends," she repeated. "Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan…Enjolras. And the others. Why?"

"No pleasantries?" Grantaire muttered, finally taking a sip of Bliss. "No, _how are you, Grantaire_? I'm fine, thank you, by the way."

"Your friends are worried about you."

Something similar to surprise flickered in Grantaire's eyes. "Are they now?"

"Yes." Éponine licked her lips and ran her thumb around the empty glass she'd carried over to the table. "Combeferre is, and Enjolras –"

Grantaire snorted. "I doubt that Enjolras is worried about me."

"He _is_," Éponine insisted. "They all are. Why would I lie?"

"Why do you even care?" Grantaire demanded.

"I like Combeferre a lot," Éponine said. "I don't like seeing him worry. Everyone else is getting along just fine here –"

"And so am I," Grantaire interrupted. "I like it here."

For a few minutes, Éponine floundered. She had no idea what to say to that.

"I know, I'm surprised myself," Grantaire said in a dry sort of way. "But I find this place…suits me."

"Then…why…" She pursed her lips. "Why don't you see your friends? The other night, when I saw you – it wasn't _me_ you were annoyed at, was it?"

Grantaire shrugged one shoulder. "I wasn't annoyed," he said. "I was nervous."

"You sounded annoyed."

"Nervous," he reiterated. "I don't really want to see Les Amis right now."

"But _why_?" Éponine flopped back in her seat, a small huffing sound leaving her mouth. "I don't understand."

Grantaire looked down at his glass. "I wouldn't expect you to," he said. "It's…It's complicated, Éponine."

"I can do complicated," Éponine replied. "My whole life was complicated. I think I can handle it."

"Oh, I know you probably could, I just don't feel like revealing the best of me just yet," Grantaire said.

Éponine studied the man before her. There was a resigned expression on his face.

"I think your _friends_ would like to see you," she said eventually. "You don't have to tell them anything. Or me, for that matter. But they want to know you're all right."

"How can I not be all right?" he said, smirking at her. "There's as much Bliss as I could ever want, and I can't die, and I can't be hurt, and I don't need food or sleep or money. I can go from drinking hole to drinking hole without any concern for anything. They must know that."

Éponine thought back to the times that Gavroche had disappeared and how sick it had made her feel, and shook her head. "That's not the point," she said. "When you care for someone, logic doesn't matter. It doesn't make a difference that you're safe; until they _know_ you're safe, they're going to worry."

"I don't think they're worrying as much as you _think_ they are," Grantaire muttered in response.

"Don't be an idiot."

At that moment, the doors to the inn swung open and Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Bahorel burst in. It wasn't long before their eyes fell on Grantaire and Éponine. Grantaire turned to look at them, then glanced at Éponine. She shrugged at him. "It's up to you," she said. "You can walk past them and find somewhere else to drink. Or you can just move past whatever issue you're having and _talk to them_. What's the worse that could happen?"

She picked up her glass and put it back behind the bar. When she turned around, Grantaire's friends had taken seats around his table, and Grantaire seemed to be smiling. For a few moments, Éponine leaned her hip against the bar and watched them, before deciding to return home.

**A/N: I'm aware that it seems like I've covered Grantaire too quickly, but it will be a plotline we'll return to at some point later on.**


	19. unfaithful

**19**

The students decided to celebrate Grantaire's return to their fold by throwing a party of sorts. Courfeyrac and Bahorel had spent an entire day collecting Bliss into bottles for the event. It was being held at the flat that Prouvaire, Joly and Bossuet lived in together.

Éponine had never been to this particular flat before. She'd been in Combeferre's a few times now, and it was very different to her own; but this one was different again. All of their rooms were on different floors, including the two communal areas, so it was more of a house than a flat.

Apart from Prouvaire's flourishes here and there – lots of flowers, brightly coloured rugs and curtains, and somewhat hideous ornaments – it was quite a simple apartment. She arrived before everyone else, accompanied by Gavroche and Hyacinthe.

A slightly hassled looking Prouvaire met her in the doorway. "Go on up to the sitting room," he said. "I'm just…" He gestured towards the slightly ajar kitchen door. "I've never conjured éclairs before. It's not going well. They're _green_."

"I can help you, if you like," Éponine suggested, as Gavroche ran past her and up the flight of stairs.

"No, no, you're a guest," Prouvaire said, flapping his hands. "Go upstairs and sit down. Joly, Bossuet and Bérénice are up there, and so is the Bliss."

Éponine paused with one foot on the first step. "Bérénice?" she said, curious.

"Bossuet's mistress," Prouvaire replied, looking unconcerned. "Nice woman. Good taste in hats."

With that, he disappeared into the kitchen. Shaking her head, Éponine began to climb the stairs.

She walked into the sitting room to find Gavroche sat cross-legged on the rug with Hyacinthe rolling around in front of him, playing with some string. She smiled fondly at the scene, then turned her attention to the others in the room.

She hadn't seen much of Joly or Bossuet in the weeks since she'd been there, but it was nice to see them all the same. Joly sat, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. Bossuet was on the sofa nearby, looking slightly uncomfortable but happy at the same time. There was a woman sat next to him; she had golden hair and a rather impressively large bosom, as well as a slightly crooked front tooth and rosy cheeks. She assumed this to be Bérénice.

Gavroche seemed oblivious, but she couldn't help but observe some tension in the room. She wondered whether Prouvaire needed help with the éclairs and considered tailing it out of the room, but then Bérénice spotted her.

"Hello!" she said, sitting up from her position leaning against Bossuet's arm. "Another woman!"

The men glanced at her; Joly kept his eyes fixed on her form whilst Bossuet's eventually slid back to Joly.

"I'm Éponine," she introduced herself.

Bérénice's already huge grin grew bigger, if that were possible. "I've heard lots about you," she said. "I've already met Gavroche a few times, of course…"

Éponine felt a bit silly, because she could hardly admit she'd known nothing of this woman before arriving at the flat.

"It's because of Gavroche I met Bossuet," Bérénice continued, stroking a hand down the bald man's arm. Bossuet gave her a quick smile and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, but then glanced towards Joly again.

"Bérénice conjures really nice cakes," Gavroche explained.

"And Bossuet has a sweet tooth," Bérénice finished.

At this, Joly let out a little huff. Éponine was surprised; she'd only ever seen Joly happy before – even when convincing himself he had cholera, he still managed to look on the bright side of things, in his own little way.

For the first time, Bérénice's smile seemed to falter at the man's snort of derision. Bossuet's face flushed in annoyance.

"You conjure cakes?" Éponine said, trying to diffuse the situation by turning the conversation further towards mundane topics.

"I run a bakery of sorts," Bérénice said.

"I make cakes for Gavroche sometimes," Éponine said, "But I doubt I'm as good as you."

"I was fond of it when I was alive," the other woman explained. "It all comes with practise and knowledge of what a perfect pastry should taste like."

"That would explain it, then," Éponine said. "I never had much time for baking when I was alive and I could rarely afford to buy any nice treats."

At that moment, an even more flustered Prouvaire burst into the room. There was whipped cream smeared across one cheek, and chocolate run through his hair. "Bérénice, _please_ come and help me," he begged. "The éclairs just exploded, and the chocolate tastes like paper."

Giving Bossuet a kiss on the cheek, Bérénice stood and followed Prouvaire out of the living room. The door fell shut behind them and their voices grew distant as they went downstairs.

Once the kitchen door could be heard opening and closing, Bossuet twisted his body around to face Joly.

"Stop it," he said, harshly. "I am not asking for much, Joly, just that you be kind to Bérénice."

There was a mutinous look on Joly's face. "I just don't understand how you can do it."

Bossuet's face darkened even more. "Do what?"

"Be unfaithful," Joly snapped.

Éponine glanced towards Gavroche, meeting wide, confused eyes. Even little Hyacinthe seemed to have sensed something was wrong because the kitten stopped her playing and just stood there, staring.

Bossuet sighed. "I know you miss Musichetta, Joly. _I _do, too…"

"You have a funny way of showing it," Joly fumed.

"We're _dead_, Joly," Bossuet replied sharply. "Musichetta is alive. She will move on and we have to as well. I will always, always, _always_ love Musichetta, but –"

"It's too soon."

"It feels right," Bossuet countered. "No matter the time. There are times when I feel like dying all over again when I remember that Musichetta is alone –" At those words Joly flinched, but Bossuet carried on regardless of his friend's discomfort. " – But I know that Musichetta would want us to be happy. Don't _you_ want me to be happy?"

Éponine heard voices on the stairs and hoped it wasn't Bérénice coming back into this already awkward situation. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened and Combeferre and Éléonore came in.

"Of course I do," Joly muttered, staring at the carpet. Bossuet's face softened.

"Joly…" His voice was no more than a murmur, and in that moment Éponine knew that the two men had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. "I love Musichetta, but she was always more your woman than mine."

Joly's eyes flickered up to meet his closest friend's. He shook his head, and then looked and seemed to realise that everyone was staring at them. Clearing his throat, he stood up and pushed past Combeferre and Éléonore.

Bossuet rubbed a hand over his head. "If you'll excuse me," he mumbled, also standing and leaving the room.

There was silence for a few moments after the two men left, before Combeferre took Éléonore by the hand and pulled her further into the room. He shut the door behind them with a soft snapping sound and raised his eyebrows in Éponine's direction.

"I don't actually know what just happened," Éponine said. "Except that it was incredibly awkward, I think."

Combeferre sighed. "This place doesn't suit Joly," he said. "In a lot of ways, it should do; there is so much here that he likes. But the fact is…"

He trailed off, looking down into Éléonore's face. The Guardian gave him a sad smile.

"It's unfortunately something we see a lot here," Éléonore said. "People pining for loved ones left behind. It's the most common thing to stop people from adjusting."

"And it doesn't help that the man Joly would _expect_ to understand is apparently not feeling the same way," Combeferre added. "It's sad, but…"

Éléonore squeezed Combeferre's hand before pulling away from him to sit on the sofa. "It happens," she said. "It will sort itself out, somehow. Try not to fret over it, 'Ferre. You can't solve everyone's problems, no matter how hard you try."

For the second time since arriving in this house, Éponine felt like she was intruding on something. With a roll of her eyes, she stooped down to scoop Hyacinthe into her arms and nodded her head at the door. "Let's go and help Prouvaire and Bérénice with their pastries," she said.

Gavroche didn't need telling twice. He scrambled to his feet and was out of the door before Éponine could even start walking.

Stepping into the corridor, Éponine pulled the door shut behind her with one hand and hugged Hyacinthe closer with the other. Then she leaned against the wooden door and closed her eyes.

Even in death, everything was complicated.


	20. growing

**20**

By far the oddest thing about being dead was time passing. It was difficult for Éponine to gauge how long she had been there. The days did not melt into night, like they did in the living world; it changed suddenly, like the flipping of a coin. And some days seemed to last for weeks, some nights for years, and yet others passed in the blink of an eye.

That made it difficult to spot at first, but after a while, Éponine had to acknowledge something that had been worrying her for what felt like months: Hyacinthe was not changing.

Hyacinthe was still the tiny, scrawny kitten she was when Gavroche brought her home. Éponine knew that food was not a necessity in this world, so it kind of made sense that the kitten did not gain weight. But there were other aspects that made her think. Hyacinthe's fur did not grow after Éponine had cut it short, leaving the kitten with a permanently startled, spiky look.

It made her think about humans. She noticed that her nails had not grown since she'd arrived and Penelope had cut them; neither had her hair since the ends were trimmed. Gavroche's hair was still shorn short, hadn't grown an inch. Neither of them had put on weight, either, despite the fact they ate a lot now they only had to conjure it out of thin air.

But this was not what was bothering Éponine. In a way, the fact her hair wasn't growing and her nails weren't growing was almost a blessing, as it was one less thing to worry about. What worried Éponine was this simple fact: the kitten did not appear to be growing any older.

It was harder to tell a detail like that on a boy like Gavroche. Children aged imperceptibly when you were around them constantly. She supposed it was probably the same for any living thing you were around everyday.

So she decided to ask an outsider, someone who did not see Hyacinthe every single day. She ended up asking Enjolras, who had seen the kitten a couple of times when Gavroche had first found it, but hadn't seen her since.

Enjolras looked incredibly uncomfortable stood in her flat, and kept on staring around at it as if he was expecting a monster to jump out at him at any moment. She retrieved Hyacinthe from where she was sleeping in Gavroche's bedroom and dumped the kitten in Enjolras' unprepared arms.

He nearly dropped the little thing, but when he managed to right himself he held her under her front legs at arm's length.

"What exactly am I supposed to be looking for again?" he asked, clearly confused. Hyacinthe stared back at him without blinking, and it seemed to unnerve the blond gentleman even further.

"Kittens grow reasonably fast, don't they?" Éponine said, planting her hands on her hips.

"I suppose that might be true," Enjolras said. "But what's that got to do with me?"

"You saw her twice when she first got here, in the space of a few days," Éponine said. "When Gavroche first found her. Would you say she looks exactly the same now as she did then?"

Enjolras lifted the kitten into a more comfortable position and turned her around a few times. Hyacinthe let out a plaintive meow at his handling, her legs dangling awkwardly.

"I would say," Enjolras began slowly, "That she looks exactly the same to me now as she did then."

"See, that's what I thought," Éponine said, wringing her hands together. "She's not aging."

"That could be one explanation for it," Enjolras said. "Or there could be others. Why don't you ask that Guardian friend of Combeferre's?"

"You mean Éléonore?"

"Yes, that's the one." Enjolras handed the kitten back to Éponine, and then brushed his hands against his clothes as if trying to rid himself of essence of cat.

Éponine held little Hyacinthe against her chest and nodded. "I will do," she said. "Thank you, though. I'm aware it sounds a little silly…"

Enjolras shook his head. "If it's been worrying you that much, for whatever reason, then it's not silly," he said. "I'm glad I could help give you a peace of mind in some way."

Éponine didn't respond to that comment, because she wasn't certain if he _had_ given her a peace of mind at all.

XXX

The following day, Éponine went to the Guardian's building. She decided to go alone, without mentioning it to anyone like Combeferre. She'd been shown into one of the waiting rooms and had no other choice but to sit around a plain wooden table and wait.

It took a while before she was seen by Éléonore, as apparently there had been a flood of deceased overnight and the Guardians were overrun trying to hunt them all down.

The Éléonore Éponine was met with was not the composed, elegant woman she was used to; it was a flustered one with loose hair and no jewellery. "They caught me unawares," she said. "I had to work overtime to try and find someone. Is everything all right? Has Gavroche gone missing again?"

Éponine shook her head. "No, it's nothing to do with him," she said. "It's just a question I have."

Éléonore sank into the chair opposite Éponine's. After dragging a hand through her hair, pulling it back off her face, Éléonore said, "And what question might that be?"

"Do you remember Gavroche found a cat?" Éponine said. "It was a kitten, really. A tiny scrap of an animal."

"Yes," Éléonore said. "Combeferre mentioned it and I saw it at that get together we had. It was very cute."

"She is very cute," Éponine agreed. "But I've noticed something."

At those words, Éléonore's eye twitched. It was almost as if she knew what was coming next and she didn't want the words to be said out loud.

"And what's that?" Éléonore said carefully.

"Hyacinthe – the kitten – she hasn't got any bigger," Éponine said. "She doesn't seem to be getting older. She's exactly the same as she was when Gavroche found her. And I've noticed other things, too…Like my hair doesn't grow anymore, and neither does my nails. Gavroche's hair used to grow very quickly when he was alive but ever since it was cut off it's stayed the exact same length. We haven't put on any weight even though we eat a lot. Nothing…changes here…That's what I've observed."

Éléonore heaved a very, very heavy sigh. "The body remains in the state it was in when it died," she said. "And it retains any changes made in this world, such as changes to hair, nails, permanent alterations to the skin…But aside from that, your body stays the same."

Her mind immediately shooting to Gavroche, Éponine said, "How do children get older, then?"

There was a long silence, that grew weightier with every moment that passed.

"They don't," Éléonore answered, not meeting Éponine's gaze. "They stay children."

Éponine knew that her eyebrows had raised and her eyes widened. "What do you mean?" she demanded. "_They stay children_? What does that even mean?"

"They will physically remain a child," Éléonore said, clearing her throat. "Their minds will grow, but their body will not. It's just…"

"So Gavroche is going to be a little boy forever?" Éponine felt sick.

"Not _forever_," Éléonore hedged. "But for however long it takes before he…moves on, so to speak."

"That could take hundreds of years," Éponine said. "Those…books that Combeferre reads – Clémence Lefebvre – she's met people who have been here over two hundred years. That's two hundred years as a child! A child with a man's mind – what if he wants – what if he wants a wife? A family?"

"Well - _no one_ can have a family here in that sense," Éléonore said. "You can go through ceremonies similar to marriage, of course, but…Me, you, we cannot bear children. You must have realised that."

Éponine hadn't realised that. She hadn't even thought about it. But now, of course, it made so much sense. How could the dead bear the living?

That realisation felt like a punch in the stomach – no, a thousand punches in the stomach. She'd never really given much thought to having children – when she was alive she'd thought in the deep recesses of her mind that childbearing would be impractical given her situation, but probably a very likely and unfortunate occurrence – but now she thought about the life she had _here_…Nothing was _needed_ to stay alive, you simply _lived_, and it was safer…She'd begun to enjoy mothering Gavroche…And now to be told she'd never be able to be a mother.

And Gavroche would never get to grow up. He'd never become a man, only in the mind – he'd never be able to do so many things…

"I'm sorry," Éponine heard Éléonore murmur, but she paid it no heed.

How did one tell another person that they were never going to grow up?

XXX

Éponine found herself on Combeferre's doorstep.

The door answered on the sixth round of knocking, but it was not Combeferre that answered; it was Enjolras.

"Is Combeferre in?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

"He's at the library," Enjolras said, staring down at her with narrowed eyes. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

She pushed past him into the front room of the flat. She heard him shut the door, then clear his throat.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," he said. "What is wrong?"

"I went to see Éléonore about the fact that Hyacinthe hasn't grown," Éponine explained, "And she told me that aging is apparently impossible here."

Enjolras did his usual trick of keeping his eyes somewhere above Éponine's head, which only fuelled the irritation burning in her stomach.

"And that means?" he prompted.

"That Gavroche is going to be a little boy for the remainder of his time in this stupid place," Éponine snapped. "And none of us are going to be parents, either, because apparently _that's_ impossible too. It's just a lot – a lot of _shit_ and – and I don't know _how_ to tell him that…He's never going to be a man. He's never going to be like you, or Courfeyrac, or Combeferre, or…"

She realised with horror that she was crying. She swiped furiously at her eyes, hating herself in that moment for her display of vulnerability.

"He needs to know," she whispered, voice breaking. "He deserves to know. But I can't tell him. Where would I start?"

Enjolras studied her in silence. She could tell that his mind was ticking over with options of what to suggest. With a sigh, he finally said, "I could tell him for you."

Éponine bit her lip. She hated herself again for not being able to do it, even though she knew it should be her that told Gavroche.

"Thank you," she murmured, mopping up the last of her tears with her shawl. "Thank you."

XXX

Gavroche returned from his wanderings that evening bubbling with joy. He'd spent the entire day with Prouvaire, who had conjured some paint and had let the young boy help him paint the flat in various bright, garish colours.

Gavroche burst through the door, smattered with paint – blue, red, yellow, orange and green, and one smudge of purple beneath his eye. He explained, in a gabbling way, that Joly had been horrified at Prouvaire's decision to paint Joly's room bright orange, and a paint fight had ensued.

His story came to a stop when he saw Enjolras sat on the sofa. Éponine felt like crying again, because she knew what was coming next.

She sat on the sofa whilst Enjolras sat on the floor beside Gavroche. Both of them sat cross-legged. She didn't speak as Enjolras' explanation began; she kept as silent as possible, and watched as her brother's face went from confused to angry to hurt.

The boy's fist swung out and caught Enjolras on the chin, and then Gavroche fled from the flat, leaving the door open behind him.


	21. condemned

**21**

Éponine jumped to her feet the minute that Gavroche disappeared from view. She heard his booted feet thudding on the stairs and made to go after him, but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

She stared down at Enjolras' hand banded around her arm and resisted the urge to punch him in the face as Gavroche had done. "Get off me," she said, keeping very still. Enjolras' grip tightened for the briefest of seconds before he let go of her.

He walked past her to shut the front door. "Give him some time," he suggested. "He's had a shock. He needs some space."

Worry and anger that had built up inside Éponine since she'd left the Guardian's building suddenly burst forth. Enjolras was standing there, _daring_ her to tell her how to deal with her own brother?

"This is all your fault," she said, voice very quiet in the stillness of the room.

Enjolras kept his face impassive. "How so?"

"You and your pointless _revolution_!" Éponine shouted. "Revolution – it was nothing! It achieved _nothing_! You have ruined everything! Because of you and your speeches my brother is going to remain a child for – for God only knows how long! _You killed him_! And you killed me, you killed me too. You stole our lives the minute you began to build that barricade! Because of you, he will never – _we _will never get to _live_. And what for? Your supposed _revolution_ achieved _nothing_, Enjolras, it achieved _nothing_. We all died for a fantasy!"

Enjolras barely flinched during her tirade, but his eyes had narrowed considerably and his hands were clenched into fists. "Don't you think I _know_ that?" he spat. "Don't you think I've _realised_? I _hate myself_, Éponine. I can barely look at my friends sometimes without thinking about what I've done. You're right – I have condemned you all to live in this – this _hell_ that is supposed to be some kind of heaven. I hate it here. I hate it here, I hate myself, I hate looking at everyone. And I will never be able to look Gavroche in the eye ever again."

He was breathing heavily, and so was she. Her hands itched, itched to smack him.

"You _should_ hate yourself," she bit out. "I hate you. _I hate you_."

For the first time, Enjolras flinched at her words. He took a step backwards, but that was when the front door was shoved open and Combeferre stepped inside, his arm wrapped around Gavroche's shoulders.

The boy had his face pressed into Combeferre's side, and Combeferre was looking at them with concern and confusion etched across his face. "I found him outside," he murmured. "He was very distressed…I thought he might want you, Éponine…"

Gavroche tore away from Combeferre and flung himself at his sister. Éponine folded her arms around him and stroked his spiky hair. "Thank you," she said to Combeferre, nodding her head.

"I could hear you shouting from downstairs," Combeferre said, looking between Enjolras and Éponine in a very pointed way. "That's why I thought it best to interrupt before you both said something you might regret."

"I don't regret anything I said to him," Éponine said harshly. "I do hate him, and this is all his fault." Against her, Gavroche's entire body shuddered.

Enjolras pursed his lips. "I won't try to help you again," he said, his tone as cold as ice. For the first time, his eyes met hers. A jolt shot through her entire body. "I will stay out of your way, Éponine, and you would do well to stay out of mine."

With that, Enjolras turned on his heel and stalked out of the flat. Ignoring his exit, Éponine led Gavroche to the sofa and sat down on it, hugging her brother against her.

Combeferre hovered near the arm of the sofa. "Éponine…"

"Please go," she said, not in the mood for a scolding. "Please. Just leave. Thank you for bringing Gavroche home, but I have everything under control now."

She wasn't sure that was the truth; in fact, it felt like everything could fly away in seconds. But she could keep a hold on it if she just kept her arms around her brother. As long as he didn't fall apart completely, neither would she.

She turned her eyes to gaze upon the wall opposite, her hand still smoothing down Gavroche's spikes of hair. She could see Combeferre stood nearby out of the corner of her eye, but after a couple of minutes passed he turned around and left her flat without speaking. He shut the door behind him quietly.

She pressed her cheek against the top of Gavroche's head. "It's going to be okay," she promised him. "It will sort itself out."

The words, although intended to be given in comfort, felt cruel on her tongue, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. She had no idea how to sort this situation out. It was completely beyond her control, and she knew that both of them _knew_ that, but she couldn't let Gavroche cry anymore. She was the adult here, and she needed to reassure the child in her arms. It was her job.

Gavroche shuddered again, his small hands clawing into the fabric of Éponine's dress and holding on tight. She wondered when the last time was someone held him like this, to comfort him. Their mother had never been the comforting type, she knew that well, and he hadn't lived at home long enough to receive this type of affection.

Thoughts like that were dangerous, though, because it reminded Éponine of the childhood Gavroche had never had and the adulthood he was never going to get.

She pressed a kiss into his hair. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I don't want to be a child," Gavroche said in a broken, garbled voice. He still had paint all over him, she thought, raising his head to look him in the eye. Her thumb brushed over a smudge of orange underneath his eye, the dried paint feeling rough beneath her skin.

"It will be okay," she said again, her voice a lot fiercer now. "Gavroche, I am telling you, everything will be better. We…We will work it out for you."

He blinked his overly bright and damp eyes more than once before burying his face back into her body. She rubbed his arms as she felt his body begin to tremble with sobs again, wishing there was something she could do now instead of whisper what they both knew were empty promises.

After some time had passed, she felt his body relax and slacken against hers and she realised he'd fallen asleep, exhaustion having clearly taken before. Gently, she eased him backwards so he was lying horizontally on the sofa, and stood up.

She made her way into his bedroom, where she gathered some blankets off his bed. Tucking them around him on the sofa, she dropped a kiss onto his forehead and stepped back to look at him.

She felt a furry body wrapping itself around her ankles, and then there were small, sharp teeth nipping at her calf.

"Hyacinthe," she admonished in a soft voice. She bent down to pick up the scrawny kitten. Hyacinthe meowed in an expectant manner, placing her paws on Éponine's shoulder.

"What are we going to do?" Éponine murmured, tilting her head forward so that the kitten could nudge her. "We're in a right old mess, aren't we, Hyacinthe?"

The kitten began to purr in response, and Éponine hugged her little body closer, wishing that she had someone else to comfort her that was not an animal.


	22. misdirected

**22**

The following day, there was a knock at the door.

Gavroche had woken early and had announced his intentions to go for a walk almost immediately. Éponine had done her best to encourage him to remain with her, but the boy refused, saying there was no need and that he'd made the plans to see Courfeyrac the day before.

After he had gone, Éponine wished she had forced him to stay. She considered leaving the flat herself and going for a wander, but considered who she might bump into and decided it best to remain indoors.

Besides, she was not in the mood for dealing with people.

That was the thought that ran through her mind when she heard the knock at the door. She put down the romance novel she was reading, half-hoping she'd misheard, and half-hoping it was just a neighbour having finally decided to say hello.

Unfortunately for her, she recognised the three short, sharp knocks upon her front door as being the signature knocks of Combeferre.

Éponine stood up and walked over to the door, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she stole herself to answer.

Combeferre stood alone on her doorstop, his dark, bottle-green coat hung over one arm. He gave her an uncertain sort of smile.

"May I come in?" he said.

After a few moments had passed Éponine nodded, stepping aside so that Combeferre could enter her flat. He strode straight over to the sofa and sat down, resting the coat on the cushions beside him.

Éponine shut the door. "If you've come to lecture me, you might as well turn around and leave," she said pointedly. "Because I am in no mood to hear it."

"You haven't calmed down, then?" Combeferre tilted his head as he looked at her. She rolled her eyes and sat down next to him, on top of his coat. He gave her a small glare and moved to yank the coat from beneath her.

"I've calmed down," Éponine retorted. "But that doesn't mean I'm not still angry."

Combeferre stayed silent for a few moments before saying, "I understand your anger. Really, I do."

Éponine wasn't sure he did, but she refrained from speaking.

"I'm frustrated with what I learned yesterday, too," Combeferre continued. "I never really gave it _much_ thought when I was alive but I suppose I'd always wanted…I don't know, a _family_, I suppose, of my own, when I was older. I wanted…a lot, when I was alive. Most of it is impossible now, because of the restrictions of this place. It's not just the family side of things; there are places I wanted to go, things I wanted to see, books I wanted to read that I never will, knowledge waiting to be learned that I…That I will never learn. You're not the only one, Éponine, with hopes and dreams, and Gavroche isn't the only person who will never grow up."

Éponine wanted to scoff and stomp her feet, but she made do with staring at her lap, feeling like a little child.

"But that's not really what I wanted to say," Combeferre said. "What I wanted to say is that I feel your anger, whilst justified, is misdirected."

Éponine whipped her head around and glared at Combeferre with all the anger she could muster. "_Misdirected_?" she spat. "I suppose you're referring to _Monsieur _Enjolras, aren't you?"

"Although he'll never admit it, Éponine, I think he was upset by what you said yesterday," Combeferre said quietly. "As his oldest friend, I do not like to see him upset, especially when I do not feel he deserved the brunt of your anger."

Anger and frustration coiled even tighter within Éponine. "Oh, you don't, do you?" She stood up abruptly, looming over the gentleman she had previously been sat beside. "I am not sorry for a single word I said to Enjolras yesterday. I meant every word of it. This –" She flung her arms out wide, then let them drop with a loud slap to her sides once more. " – Is all his fault. It was _his_ revolution we –"

"Enjolras never forced any of us to be there," Combeferre interrupted. He did not stand, and instead laced his fingers over his knee. "Yes, I suppose the idea of rebellion was Enjolras'. He believed in the cause he was fighting for more than anyone else on that barricade. Would I have been there if I had not known Enjolras? Possibly not. But I might have been. It is possible. Because _I _was there because _I_ wanted to try and make a difference. I wanted to fight. And yes, I died. I died fighting and trying to make a difference – because _I _was fighting, and because _I chose to_. Enjolras did not hold a gun to my head and force me to the barricades, Éponine. Just as he did not hold a gun to Grantaire's head, or Courfeyrac's head, or Jehan's head, or Bahorel's head, or Feuilly's head – we all _chose_ to be on that barricade. Even you."

Éponine's hands itched, and she found herself so angry that words could not be formed.

Combeferre continued, his eyes fixed on hers. It was so different, she thought dimly, from talking to Enjolras. Combeferre looked you right in the eye and dared you to look away when he was being as serious as he was being now.

"You made your decision to be there, Éponine, and it was one you'd put thought into," he was saying. "You dressed as a man, you fought alongside us; and then when Marius climbed the barricade with that barrel of powder, _you_ chose to turn the gun on yourself. I don't know what made you do that – I can't begin to know – but you did not do it because Enjolras made you. I dare say Enjolras would have tried telling you to leave had he known you were there, in fact. You needn't have died, Éponine; you chose to follow Marius to the barricades. You can correct me if I'm wrong."

He wasn't wrong. He was right, so right, but it was _more_ than that, so much more complicated than just _choosing to follow Marius _– it was done out of love.

"You don't understand," she spat.

Combeferre shrugged. "I don't try to," he said. "I don't want to, either. Your decisions are your own, just as mine are my own. So you cannot blame Enjolras for decisions _you_ made."

Éponine dragged a hand through her hair. She felt like tearing chunks of it from her scalp. "And Gavroche?" she threw at him. "What is your answer for _Gavroche_? He's a _boy_! And you all saw him there, all of you, you all knew he was there and he had a gun and none of you, _not one of you_ told him to leave –"

"Marius did," Combeferre cut her off. "Marius did. But Gavroche came back, just as we all knew he would. Éponine, you know Gavroche. Wild horses couldn't have kept the boy from the barricade that night."

"You should have _made_ him leave," Éponine said. "You were there –"

"And so were you."

Éponine's eyes widened. Combeferre stood up, and gently, he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"There are a lot of things about that night, Éponine, that I wish we could change," he said, his voice very soft. His hands were a warm weight on her shoulders, comforting almost, even as his words cut through her. "I desperately wish I could change the outcome. I wish, looking back, that I _had_ tried to persuade Gavroche to leave. I wish I had seen you, seen through your disguise, and tried to make you see reason, too. But what's done is done. I have made my decisions. You have made yours. Enjolras made his. But don't heap anymore blame on his shoulders than he's already put there himself, Éponine. It isn't fair, it isn't helpful, and it isn't going to change anything."

Éponine shrugged his hands away and stepped back. "Just…" She ducked in a deep breath and shook her head. "Just…Leave, please."

Combeferre sighed for the first time since entering the flat, and it was a small noise of exasperation.

"Éponine…" he began, but then turned and picked up his coat. "Please, don't let this…Get in the way of your life here. Please. That's all I ask of you."

Éponine's lips drew into a thin line as she watched Combeferre leave the flat. He shut the door behind himself, leaving her stood there with her hands clenched by her sides, feeling even more like a chastised child than she had done the night before when he'd interrupted her argument with Enjolras.


	23. distress

**23**

Mere seconds after the door had shut behind Combeferre, it opened once more. This time, however, it was Gavroche that burst in.

"Stop being mean to everyone!" he said in a loud voice.

She glared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard what you and Combeferre were talking about," he said. "Just like I heard the things you were saying to Enjolras last night. It's mean and it's unfair because they're our friends."

Feeling like she would be better off smacking her head on a brick wall, Éponine sighed heavily. "I'm not being mean."

"Combeferre was trying to be nice," Gavroche insisted. "And you asked him to leave."

"I didn't want to talk to him, and that's not me being mean, that's just me not wanting to talk to someone," Éponine said, stubbornly. She couldn't believe that her little brother was talking to her like she was no more than a child herself.

"The way you're talking to them is mean, just like blaming Enjolras for everything is mean," Gavroche said, planting his hands on his hips.

Éponine flung her own hands up into the air and stomped past him. "I am not being spoken to like this by _you_," she said. "I am not a child! I'm an adult!"

Without waiting for Gavroche to respond, she stormed out of the flat, taking the stairs at the fastest run she could manage without falling.

She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, not really sure where she was heading. She decided she wanted to get thoroughly and completely lost and managed that feat within six minutes exactly. She had no idea where she was and for the first time in her life she didn't mind. She didn't _want_ to see anything familiar: the opposite, in fact. She didn't want to risk running into any of the students, those students who probably knew about what had happened with Enjolras and would look at her with disappointed eyes. She didn't want…

After a long, long time, Éponine found herself walking down the side of the river where they'd found Enjolras and Gavroche what felt like a year ago. It looked different and yet the same in the daylight. The river was still opaque and reflected the grassy hill on one of its banks, making the water a bright green colour.

Éponine's walking stopped as she came to the edge of the river. She stared down into the greenish water, thinking back to a time when she'd contemplated plunging into the depths of a river and drowning herself once before.

She felt her knees begin to bend into a crouch as the overwhelming urge to dip her fingers into the water overtook her body. Would it be cold, she wondered, or warm?

Just then, the sound of sobbing reached her ears. No, it was more than sobbing – it was the sound of one who was completely and utterly distraught. The crying was painful and choking, a loud wailing that hit Éponine's eardrums and went straight to her spine. Her knees stopped bending as her body turned to find the source of the howling.

There was a figure sat up the riverbank that she hadn't seen when she'd descended the steps. She inched closer. It was a woman – no, a girl, she realised as she got closer. The girl had the skinny, boyish and awkward figure of a child growing into an adult. She had dark blonde hair that was curled around her face. Her face itself was bright red, and twisted beyond recognition with the force of her crying. Her mouth gaped open in a way that was completely unattractive to Éponine, and her face was damp with a mixture of tears and mucus.

Éponine drew level with the girl. She saw a flickering out of the corner of her eyes. A Portal had been opened in the water. The portal showed an elderly gentleman writing at a desk; he was completely alone, and was not speaking, and Éponine couldn't imagine why anyone would want to watch this scene.

Whatever the reasons, however, it seemed to be distressing the young girl so Éponine reached out and dipped her hand into the middle of the Portal. The water was cool around her hand, and the Portal rippled and disappeared with her touch.

The girl shrieked. "What are you _doing_!" she said shrilly at the top of her voice. "You can't just close my Portal!"

"You were bordering on hysterical," Éponine said, giving the girl her most unimpressed look.

"_So_?" The girl swiped at her face angrily. Éponine grimaced when the mess on the girl's face clung to her hand.

"That is disgusting," Éponine murmured under her breath, and then said, "I was just trying to be nice. I don't think I'll be bothering again."

"You closed my Portal," the girl muttered, eyes narrowed on Éponine.

How that it wasn't scrunched up from her wailing, Éponine could see familiar features upon the girl's face. She recognised the yellow curls, too, and the sniping tone of voice. It was Inès, the girl who had shown Éponine and Gavroche to their home so long ago.

"As I said, I was just trying to be nice," Éponine shot back at her. "Whatever you were watching – and it looked very boring, by the way – was making you scream and it was very annoying and distracting, so I thought I'd be a kind person and stop the thing that was tormenting you."

Inès shoved to her feet, her scowl deepening. "It was not _boring_ and it was not _tormenting_ me," she said hotly. "I was just keeping an eye on someone, you stupid girl, and –"

Anger coiled low in Éponine's stomach and she couldn't fight the overwhelming urge to lash out at the girl in front of her. "Don't call me stupid," she interrupted. "I am not stupid. I was trying to _help_ you because you were upset and I thought getting rid of that Portal was the kindest thing to do –"

"Kind? _Kind_! I don't _need_ your kindness!" Inès screamed, a wild glint in her eyes. "I don't need anyone's kindness! After all I've been through, _alone_, I don't need anyone else's help! You should have left me to it!"

"I will do in future," Éponine snapped. "Next time, don't do it in public if you don't want someone to check on you. And by the way, you're an incredibly ugly crier."

Inès lunged at Éponine, her hand swinging in an arc in an attempt to strike Éponine across the face. Éponine stepped to one side but shoved at the smaller girl with one of her hands, sending Inès stumbling backwards. "Don't you dare try and hit me," Éponine said, in a low, fierce voice. "I have done nothing to deserve physical aggression, Inès, so don't you _dare_ raise your hand to me again."

Éponine had felt angry before but it was nothing compared to the rage she felt now. She'd had to put up with threats of physical violence too often when she was alive, and she had no intentions of suffering the same now she was dead.

Inès' chin wobbled as she stared at Éponine. The other girl's eyes filled with tears and she began to blink rapidly, the moisture leaking down her face. Then, with a choked sob at the back of her throat, Inès spun on her heel and ran away.

Éponine watched her run, wondering how on earth a girl as unstable as Inès had managed to get a job as a Guardian of all things.


	24. thirteen

**24**

Not long after, Éponine found herself outside the Guardian's building once more.

Although Inès had caused Éponine to feel unspeakably angry, Éponine couldn't quite push the sounds of Inès' wailing out of her head. Or the fact that the girl had been watching a Portal, which she'd had drummed into her was not a good thing.

So she decided it might be best to let someone know. That way, they could deal with it and she wouldn't have to think about Inès anymore.

Éléonore saw her quite quickly; she showed her into one of the building's many small, plain rooms, furnished with a table and matching chairs.

"What's the problem today?" Éléonore said in a cheerful voice.

"I apologise for keeping on popping in like this," Éponine said, out of politeness more than any genuine regret for her visits.

"It's what we're here for," Éléonore replied.

"I'm not here about me, though, or Gavroche." Éponine rubbed the back of her neck. "You see, I went for a walk and I ended up by the river."

Éléonore nodded her head slowly. "Go on."

"Inès was there," Éponine said. "You know who I mean, right? The Guardian?"

"She's not a fully-fledged Guardian, she's more of an assistant," Éléonore answered. "But yes, I know who you mean."

"She was watching a Portal, and – there's no other way to put it, really – she was crying her eyes out. And I mean, really crying. It was very messy."

Éléonore sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over her face. "I see. Thank you for telling me this. Inès is…troubled."

"I gathered that," Éponine said. "That's why I came, to make sure you were aware."

"Inès is like Gavroche," Éléonore explained. "She was thirteen when she died, and she's never really…gotten over the fact she's stuck in the body of an adolescent. It…It really troubles her, and when you combine that with traumatic events from her life…"

"Yeah, she was going on about having suffered through things," Éponine said, shrugging her shoulder. "As I said…"

"It's the Portal that worries me," Éléonore continued, as if Éponine hadn't spoken. "She's had problems with them in the past – she can't help but create them…We thought we'd managed to wean her off them…"

"The Portal was upsetting her so I closed it," Éponine said.

Éléonore's eyebrows dipped into a frown and she squinted at Éponine. "You closed it?" she echoed.

"Yes," Éponine said. "Shouldn't I have?"

"No, you shouldn't," Éléonore said in a slow voice. "I don't mean because you, I suppose, _morally_ shouldn't have, I mean you literally should not have been able to close it. Only the conjurer can close a Portal, or it closes itself."

Éponine didn't like the expression on Éléonore's face, so she stood up. "I just wanted to tell you about Inès," she said. "That's really the only reason I came."

The troubled look didn't leave Éléonore's face, and she slowly got to her feet as well. She cleared her throat, and fixed a kind smile on her mouth. "I'd thought you might have come about Combeferre at first," she said, raising one eyebrow.

A flicker of annoyance curled in Éponine's stomach at the mention of his name. "He came to see me this morning," she said.

"And how did it go?"

Éponine stared at her.

"I'm going to take your silence as a not well," Éléonore sighed. "That's unfortunate, Éponine."

"I didn't come here for a lecture," Éponine said sharply, "Before you even start."

"You're not going to get one," Éléonore said. "It's not my place and I haven't known you long enough and I also don't know enough about the argument itself to comment. All I will say is _please_ don't be too harsh on Combeferre. He really tormented himself about what to say to you last night, and he's really worried about the whole situation. Please don't make him worry about it anymore."

It wasn't the appeal that Éponine had been expecting. She had been anticipating another request to apologise to Enjolras, not a suggestion to be kind to someone. It took her straight back to Gavroche's demand that she stop being _mean_ to people.

"I don't mean to upset people," Éponine found herself saying.

"We know you don't," Éléonore said, and she reached out, gently touching her fingertips to Éponine's wrist. "As I said, I don't want to lecture you. I just want to bring some comfort to Combeferre, and I know if you can resolve this…"

Éponine stepped back from Éléonore.

"I'm going to go now," she said. "I – uh, I had a bit of a…disagreement with Gavroche."

Éléonore didn't look surprised at Éponine's words. "Do you need me to see you out?" she said.

Éponine smiled at her, and said, "I think I can find my own way."

OOO

She wasn't surprised to find that the flat was empty when she returned. Gavroche wasn't there, and he'd obviously taken Hyacinthe with him.

Not for the first time since arriving in this place Éponine found herself without anything to do. A ball of anxiety knotted itself in her abdomen and she wound up sat on the edge of the sofa, fingers wound into the fabric of her dress.

It had been dark for what felt like a few hours when the door finally opened and Gavroche came in, carrying a squirming Hyacinthe under one arm. He tried his best to slam the door shut behind him when he saw her sat there.

"Are you going to be mean to me again?" were the first words out of his mouth.

Éponine stood up and rushed towards him, flinging her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've not been meaning to be mean to anyone, Gavroche. I'm really sorry."

Gavroche dropped Hyacinthe the minute Éponine hugged him. The kitten gave an indignant yowl and skittered away.

Éponine pulled away from him, keeping her hands on his shoulders and looking her little brother in the eye. "And I shouldn't have stormed out like that."

Gavroche's mouth screwed up. "I suppose I shouldn't have shouted at you either," he muttered. "Or stayed out after dark when I promised I wouldn't."

Éponine hugged him again. He squirmed, and then said into her ear, "Are you going to talk to Combeferre?"

Éponine let go of him completely. "Just Combeferre?" she said. "I don't mind talking to him."

Gavroche looked like he wanted to say something but seemed to feel it was best to avoid it. Éponine smoothed her hand over Gavroche's scruff of hair. "We'll see," she suggested. "How does that work?"

Her brother jerked away from her stroking hand. "It'll do," he said, and at that moment, Hyacinthe leaped onto Gavroche's foot and sank her teeth into his boots. He let out a small shriek in response and bent down to scoop the cat into his arms and turned her upside down, cradling her like a baby.

Éponine smiled at Gavroche's antics with the small kitten, content that she had managed to make peace with at least one person that day.


	25. apologies

**25**

The next day, Éponine woke up early, tidied the house, and spent the rest of the morning conjuring a massive chocolate cake for Gavroche. But when all of this was done, she knew she could not put it off any longer; she had to go and see Combeferre and Enjolras.

She walked as slowly as she could, dragging her feet as she walked to their flat. When she knocked on the door, she left a long gap in between the knocks, trying to stretch out the seconds for as long as she could. The door opened a couple of minutes later, and it was Combeferre who answered.

"Hello," she said, feeling a little awkward. "Can I come in?"

"Of course you may," Combeferre said, holding the door open wider and standing aside. She slipped into the flat, knotting her fingers into the fabric of her skirt.

He shut the door behind her with a quiet snap. "I was just about to leave," he said. "Éléonore and I are going for a walk."

"I won't keep you for long," Éponine reassured him. "I just wanted…"

Combeferre raised his eyebrows at her. She bit her lip and looked down at the floor.

"I just wanted to say sorry," she said, in a low mutter, "For how I've been in the past couple of days. You didn't deserve my anger and I'm sorry if I was rude to you."

Combeferre bowed his head. "I appreciate your apology," he said. "I apologise if I really did upset you as well."

"You did, but I was nothing I didn't deserve," Éponine replied, wringing her hands together. "I needed someone to tell me how I was coming across."

"Éponine," Combeferre sighed, stepping towards her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Why don't we draw a line under it?"

That sounded like the happiest idea she'd heard in a long while, and she beamed at him. "Please."

He returned her bright smile, and said, "Would you like to speak to Enjolras?"

Éponine winced. "Yes, I was."

"He's not in at the moment," Combeferre said, "But he was heading to the library when he left this morning. I suppose you could look there."

"The library?" Éponine pressed her thumb to her lower lip.

"I know," Combeferre said. "He's recently taken an interest in the works of Clémence Lefebvre. It's better than the pointless wandering he took to doing when we first arrived here."

"I'll look there first, then," Éponine said. "Thank you."

"It's nothing. I want you to get it resolved," he said, grinning at her. "Now, I need to go and meet up with Éléonore…"

She stepped out of the flat with him and waited as he locked the door.

"Do you mind me asking what's going on between you and Éléonore?" she said. "Is she…your…I don't know, mistress?"

Combeferre's brows knitted together and his mouth twisted at her words. "I don't like the term 'mistress'," he said. "It doesn't really cover our relationship."

"So you _have _a relationship?" Éponine pushed.

"Of sorts," Combeferre said, and together, they made their way down the steps to the street. "Not the one your thinking of, and not the one that Bossuet and Bérénice share. But I certainly feel a great deal of affection towards her."

Éponine smiled at him. "It's nice to hear that someone is happy," she said. "It feels like it's been an age since anyone here was _happy_."

"It'll pass," Combeferre reassured her. "I'll see you soon, Éponine. We must go to the library together again in a couple of days."

"We will," she agreed. "Goodbye."

They parted ways, her walking to the library. She found that, after apologising to Combeferre, she was not walking so slowly and found herself feeling somewhat eager to see Enjolras.

She found him sat in the basement of the library amongst all of the non-fiction books, sat on an overturned crate, with what she recognised to be Clémence Lefebvre's fourteenth volume in his hands. He didn't look up when he heard her footsteps, and still wasn't looking at her even when she was stood beside him, her feet clearly in his line of vision.

She cleared her throat.

He still didn't look up, and turned the page with a soft rustle. She cleared her throat again, but he didn't move.

"_Monsieur_," she said. He turned the page again. She rolled her eyes. It was impossible for a person to have read two pages in the few seconds it took her to say _monsieur_, so she knew he was trying to avoid looking at her. For such an intelligent man, he was being incredibly childish.

"Enjolras," she said, a little louder than her normal volume. "Don't ignore me."

Enjolras let out a small, soft sigh, and drummed his fingers on the page. His head, however, didn't raise so he could look at her properly.

"I think you're being really rude," Éponine declared. "Are you at least going to look at me?"

Finally, his head lifted up and so did his eyes. As usual, the piercing blue orbs focused on some spot just above her head. The urge to kick him in the shin, a feeling she usually got around Enjolras, rose up once more.

"Are you going to shout at me again?" he said, his voice calm and controlled. Her foot twitched and she had to force her leg to stay down instead of kicking out at him.

"No," she said, dragging out the short word. "I'm not going to 'shout' at you, as you put it."

"That makes a nice change."

She rolled her eyes. "I've shouted at you _once_."

"Shouted, maybe, but it wasn't the first time _you've_ been rude to me." Enjolras continued to drum his fingers on the book. "You can't blame me for expecting more of the same."

Éponine's hands curled into fists. "Actually, I came here to apologise," she snapped. "I came to apologise for the fact I upset you the other day."

His face remained impassive in the face of her apology, and he didn't speak. His fingers, however, did stop drumming and stilled completely. A few heartbeats passed in silence, and then his head tipped downwards. She waited for him to say something; a couple of minutes went by and then he turned the page in his book.

Her heart sank. This time, enough time had passed for him to have genuinely read the pages in front of him, meaning he wasn't even paying attention to her anymore; his attention was back solely on the text.

"Enjolras?" she said, tentatively.

Another few minutes slid by. Another page turned. There was no response from Enjolras.

An unexpected lump formed in Éponine's throat at the obvious rejection of her apology. Her throat began to ache, and her eyes felt oddly hot. With a sharp intake of breath she didn't want him to hear, she turned on her heel and stalked off down the corridor.


	26. giddy

**26**

Éponine took out her anger on the pavement beneath her feet, and stormed along the streets with her hands clenched into tight fists. There were still tears in her eyes, tears she hated the feel of, burning into her eyelids, but any distress she felt in the way of sadness was quickly being replaced by a slow, simmering fury.

She remembered feeling this angry once before when she was alive, and she also remembered seeking comfort in the form of brandy shared with Montparnasse, the closest thing she had to a friend. There was no alcohol here, nothing to numb the fury and inhibit her control long enough for her to unleash her anger on whatever poor soul crossed her path.

But there was Bliss, which she knew would make her deliriously happy. Right now, she would take fake, manufactured joy over the licks of rage in her stomach. This in mind, she stepped into the first tavern she came across. It was a quiet one, with sooty walls and straw strewn across the wooden floorboards. The man behind the counter silently handed her a tankard and she made her way over to the barrels in the corner.

She filled the tankard to the brim, taking a big gulp from it straight away to make sure none spilled over the edges. Then she turned around, and literally bumped into someone.

"Watch where you're going," Inès snapped, elbowing Éponine out of the way to get closer to the barrels.

"As charming as ever," Éponine muttered, rolling her eyes.

Inès glanced at her, and her face flushed when she realised who she had bumped into. "Oh. It's you."

"Yes, it's me," Éponine said, licking traces of Bliss from her lips. "We need to stop bumping into each other. And I mean that, I wasn't being sarcastic. I genuinely don't want to see you again."

"I don't want to see you either," Inès retorted, easily filling her glass in a way that told Éponine she spent too much time in these taverns.

"At least you're not crying, this time," Éponine said, shrugging one shoulder. "It's an improvement. As I said, you're a really ugly crier."

"I know you spoke to Éléonore about me," Inès snapped, tipping Bliss into her mouth. She poured too much in, and some trickled down her cheek. She swiped it away. "I got a lecture today and she sent me home from work."

Éponine pulled a face. "I was just trying to be a good person."

"Don't bother, it doesn't suit you."

Inès started to walk away and because Éponine was having a bad day and felt argumentative, she decided to follow.

"So, do you drink Bliss to make sure you don't have a breakdown and start conjuring Portals?" Éponine wondered out loud, taking another gulp of Bliss.

"Something like that. I'm assuming you're doing the same?" Inès dropped down into a chair at a table in the farthest corner, and Éponine sat opposite her without any hesitation.

"I don't have a problem with Portals," Éponine said. "I try to avoid them."

"I can imagine you don't have anyone you love enough to want to keep an eye on," Inès said in a nasty voice. "I can't imagine anyone loving you, either."

The few mouthfuls of Bliss she'd ingested did enough to cushion Inès' barbs.

"Well done, Inès," Éponine said. "You've found me out. I hate all of my family that remains alive, and it physically pains me to watch the only person I care for, so unlike you, I avoid the Portals."

And apparently the Bliss had also loosened her tongue.

Inès looked a little surprised.

"I don't _try _to conjure the Portals," Inès argued. "They open for me."

"So why don't you close them?" Éponine dipped her finger into the Bliss and then stuck her finger into her mouth. "They make you cry like a baby and as I said, you're a _really_ ugly crier…"

"I like watching him, them, whoever," Inès said, knocking back her drink and draining her glass. "It makes me feel better to know they're happy."

"Who is 'they'?"

"Family," Inès said. There was no expression on her face, no trace of sadness, and Éponine could tell that the Bliss was working its magic on Inès' tongue as well. "Although there's not a lot of them left now, the rest died a long time ago, but I can't find them here. And I think another's just died because I haven't been able to find her in a while, so that just leaves one more, my uncle. Though I think he's going to die any day now, he's getting on a bit."

"Do you want to be reunited with your family?" Éponine asked curiously. She sometimes struggled with the concept of loving an entire family of people, considering the fact she only truly loved Gavroche.

"It's all I've ever wanted," Inès said in a surprised tone. "I was separated from them all a long time ago."

"Funny, there are times in my life I'd have given my left arm to be separated from my parents," Éponine said. "It's one thing that makes me happy to be dead, not having to see them."

"The one thing I enjoy is not being the scum of the streets," Inès confided.

"There's that, too." Éponine took another sip, and she could feel the happiness beginning to sing in her veins. "You were scum, too?"

"Of course I was," Inès said, with a snort.

"Thieving?" Éponine guessed.

"And the rest," Inès said. "But I was never any good at stealing things, I got caught a lot."

"I definitely think there's a skill to it," Éponine shrugged.

"You stole, then?"

"Constantly. It was that or sell my body and I only sunk to that low a couple of times." Éponine finished her glass, and then realised that Inès was staring down at the table. "Inès, I actually really don't care if you were a whore. You do what you do to get by. There are worse things you could do. You could kill people for money."

She picked up her glass and reached out for Inès'. "Want some more?" she said, slowly standing up.

Inès stared at the glass in Éponine's hand – and then Éponine realised that Inès was not looking at the glass, but at the hole that still gaped in Éponine's hand. It was easy to forget about its existence, that wound, because she had just grown used to its presence. But occasionally – like now – she saw other people staring at it with an obvious question in their eyes.

"I took a bullet for someone," Éponine told her. "The bullet went through my hand before it hit my body."

"So that's how you died," Inès said. "You came with the students, didn't you? The ones from that barricade?"

"Yes," Éponine said. "I'll get you another drink, and I'll tell you what happened."

After a few moments, Inès gave a slow nod, and Éponine ambled off to get them some more Bliss.

Hours went by. Between them, they probably managed to inhale two barrels of Bliss if not more, and eventually staggered out of the tavern feeling as if they were on top of the world. No subject had gone untouched: Éponine filled Inès in on all of the troubles she'd faced since arriving here, including her argument with Enjolras, and Inès confessed she was in love with a gentleman who did not return her affections because she physically resembled a teenager. Éponine told her about Marius in return, and then Inès spent a full half-hour marvelling over how handsome Enjolras was.

In between the words, there had been dancing and singing and bellowing and flirting, and Éponine was certain she'd never had this much fun before.

For them, the fun only continued once they left the tavern. They'd loudly declared upon leaving they would go to another one, but now found themselves dancing along the streets. Éponine felt like she was flying; she felt like nothing could hold her back, nothing could stop her, like there would be no repercussions for anything that might happen.

She propped herself up against a wall and watched as Inès laughed hysterically, trying and failing to do cartwheels in the street. The other girl kept on getting tangled in the skirts of her dress and falling in a heap on the cobblestones.

"What are we doing, Éponine?" Inès said in a breathless voice, remaining lying on the ground after falling for the seventh time.

"You're having a little lie-down, at the minute," Éponine said, her voice trailing off into a nonsensical giggle that sounded stupid to her own ears, even through the euphoric haze over her brain.

"What are we doing with _life_, though?" Inès pushed.

"Not much," Éponine replied. "Seeing as we're dead."

Both of them laughed then as if they had never laughed before. Éponine could feel tears streaking down her face and only let her laughter die when she heard footsteps echoing down the street towards them.

It was very dark, but she could tell it was a woman, a woman wearing dark blue with a shawl pulled over her head. "Inès?" the woman said, in a strong voice that was as loud and clear as a bell.

"That's me," Inès sang from where she lay on the ground.

The woman turned her gaze to Éponine. Éponine pulled in closer to the wall behind her, feeling like a small child.

"I've been looking all over for you," the woman chided gently. She smiled at Éponine. "I live with Inès," she explained.

Inès sat up, a broad grin stretching across her face. "She thinks she's my mother," she said.

"I think nothing of the sort," the woman replied, crossing over to Inès and helping her to her feet. She wrapped an arm around Inès' waist. "I just worry about you, out here alone. Although you're not alone."

Inès gestured wildly with one arm. "This is…Actually, I don't know her name. I've been talking to her all day and I don't know her name. What's your name?"

The woman began to lead Inès down the street.

"Éponine," Éponine answered, and the woman halted very briefly, turning her head to look in her direction.

"I would offer to walk you home, Éponine, but I think it's in the other direction," the woman said. Éponine wondered how on earth this woman could possibly know that, but then decided she must be a Guardian or something.

"It's all right, I know my way about well enough," Éponine smiled in response, her head spinning in four different directions all at once.

"_Au revoir_, Éponine!" Inès bellowed, waving in a frantic manner. "We must do this again!"

"_Au revoir_, Inès," Éponine replied in a quieter voice, realising they had come a long way from _I don't want to see you again_ in just the space of a few hours.

The forms of the woman and Inès grew smaller until they turned the corner, and Éponine was left alone with her own hectic thoughts.

She began to walk, because walking alone was something she was good at. She realised it hadn't rained once since she'd died. Could it rain here? She wished it would rain. She liked the rain.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been walking for but before she knew it, she was at the side of the river. It gleamed in the darkness, as clear as a looking glass; she spent a few moments pondering her own reflection before seeing the edge of the river as something she should balance on.

Her balancing was slow and methodical and helped to still the manic swirling in her brain. But before she could enjoy it too much, there was a hand on her elbow and someone was yanking her away from the edge.


	27. tease

**27**

On instinct, one of her hands flew upwards and smacked the person grabbing her in what felt like their face. They let out a small puffing sound of surprise and released her; she whirled around to face them.

"There was no need to hit me," Enjolras said in a harsh voice. "I was only trying to make sure you didn't do something stupid."

"I was balancing," Éponine explained, blinking at him.

"What?" Enjolras' face twisted with confusion. She'd never seen him looked confused before. She found she rather liked it.

"Balancing," Éponine repeated, dragging out the word this time. "It was rather fun."

"You might have fallen in," Enjolras said.

"I can't die, so what's the worry?" Éponine flung her arms out and her feet went backwards, back towards the river. "Come on, let's go for a swim right now, why not –"

She lunged towards the river, but he grabbed her again, his hands fixing firmly on her waist.

"Don't be stupid," he said. "Let's go."

He took her hand. His hand was bigger and warmer than hers, and it also felt softer. She didn't pull away, but she made sure that her feet were stuck fast to the ground. "I'm not going anywhere with a man that doesn't accept my apologies," she sang.

"You're behaving like a child," he said through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated.

"And you weren't, earlier on today?" she countered.

"Fine." Enjolras let go of her hand, and she felt rather sorry for that. "I accept your attempt at an apology."

She stepped past him in a small pirouette. "That'll do, for now, although I don't appreciate your use of the word _attempt_," she said, in the snootiest voice she could manage.

Enjolras put his hand on her small of her back, guiding her along the riverbank. "I'm going to walk you home," he said. "I don't trust your current state of mind."

"Oh, I'm fine," Éponine said. "Honestly, I am. I'm just a bit drunk."

He glanced at her. "That's exactly what I feared," he said. "People do silly things when they're drunk."

She came to an abrupt halt, forcing his arm to curve slightly around her waist. "What's the worse I could do?" she said, turning her body so she was facing him. She knew she was invading his space the minute he took a step backwards, but she didn't particularly care, just stepping right back up to him once more.

"Éponine –"

"You never look me in the eye," she murmured, realising that his eyes were still darting about above her head. Her eyes searched his face, trying to make his eyes meet hers. "Why is that?"

He cleared his throat, and with a gentle push, moved her backwards. "Let's get you home," he said, ignoring her question.

She bared her teeth at him in the biggest, sunniest grin she could manage, before skipping off along the riverbank.

"Am I making you feel uncomfortable?" she threw over her shoulder, running up the short flight of steps leading back onto the main streets. He followed her at a slightly slower, much more measured pace, his eyes narrowed with an expression of concern on his face.

"Not uncomfortable," he said. She didn't believe him. "But you're very…different, right now, to how you usually are."

"Which is?" She walked backwards, staring at him.

"Not this happy."

"Me being happy is a bad thing?" Éponine came to a stop as he drew level with her. He shook his head.

"I didn't say that," he said. "I'm not used to dealing with people like this. I usually leave it to Combeferre."

"You're not used to dealing with _happy_ people?" Éponine threw her head back and laughed. "I can see why. Personally, I usually feel rather depressed in your presence. I think you bring it out in people."

"Careful, or I'll leave you to walk home by yourself," Enjolras said, but they both knew it wasn't much of a threat as she hadn't asked him to walk her home in the first place.

"It's such a shame you don't like happy people." Éponine spread her arms out wide and spun in a few lazy circles.

"I've never said I don't like happy people," Enjolras said. "The opposite. My friends are very happy people, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, but you never have fun with them," Éponine replied, picking up her skirts and rustling them. "They go out, drink Bliss, even Combeferre joins them once in a while – but you, Enjolras, you just stomp around being _moody_."

"Drinking Bliss doesn't appeal to me," Enjolras replied. "I must say, you're not the best advertisement for it in your current state."

She lurched towards him, sliding her arm through his and pulling him close to her. He stumbled with the sudden weight of her hanging off his arm, but righted himself fairly quickly.

"You should try it," she said, tightening her hold on him. "Next time – you should come with us."

"You weren't out with them tonight," he said, looking down at her. "I know you weren't, because they were all meeting at Jehan's. So who were you out with?"

"Inès," Éponine said. "She's a Guardian. Quite young. Bitter about life, but who isn't? She was a laugh once she'd drunk enough Bliss to forget about how angry she is."

"I don't think I've met her," Enjolras said.

"With how moody you are, and how moody she usually is, I think you'd get on." She came to a stop, forcing him to do the same as she was still holding on to him, and rose up onto her tiptoes. "Guess what?" she murmured, into his ear.

He flinched his head back, wriggling his arm out of her grasp. "What?"

"Inès thinks you're very handsome," Éponine giggled, amused by his awkwardness.

"How does she know?" Enjolras exclaimed, his eyes wide. "I don't know her."

"From what I gathered, you students caused a stir when we all died." Éponine set about braiding her hair as she walked. "And she's seen you around."

He shook his head, clearly at a loss for what to say.

"She's not wrong, though," Éponine continued, pushing her newly-braided plait over her shoulder as it began to unravel. "You _are_ handsome. Would you believe me if I said you were more handsome than Marius?"

The blond man just shook his head again, before saying, "I don't think you know what you're saying."

She giggled, and spun on the spot again. She stumbled as the spin finished, knocking into Enjolras. "I know exactly what I'm saying," she said, as one of his arms shot out, his hands gripping her elbows so she didn't fall over. "I'm saying you're a handsome man," she said, dragging out the word _handsome_. "I think you're handsome!"

"And I think you've had too much to drink," Enjolras murmured, his hand firmly gripping her elbow. She realised, with a slight sinking feeling in her stomach, that they had turned the corner onto her street.

"There might be something in that," she said with a small sigh, pulling her arm away from Enjolras' hand.

He walked with her to the bottom of the stairs leading up to her flat. She looked up at the window and saw Gavroche's pale face staring through the window with wide eyes. When he saw her looking, he took his tongue out and pressed his face up against the glass, crossing his eyes over. To Éponine, in that second, it looked like the most hilarious face she'd ever seen, so naturally shrieking laughter ensued.

After a few moments, she realised that Enjolras was still stood beside her. There was a bemused expression on his face as he watched her.

Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, Éponine straightened up and placed her hands on her hips. "Thank you for walking me home," she said.

"It was nothing," he said, in a very quiet voice.

She nodded at him and, unsure of what to say next, began to walk up the steps.

She was just fumbling in her pockets for the key when Enjolras spoke. "Éponine," he called, and she turned to look at him, leaning slightly over the railing that ran along the landing.

"Yes?"

"I – I accept your apology," he said, his eyes closing for the briefest of seconds as he spoke.

She straightened up, a bit surprised by the words that had just left his mouth.

He nodded at her then without speaking, and turned, walking off back down the street.


	28. embarrassment

**28**

Éponine woke the next morning and immediately felt embarrassed.

She had felt like that before, of course. A night of heavy drinking and embarrassment go hand in hand, she'd learned that well enough from her time alive. However, she hadn't felt embarrassed _here_, after drinking Bliss. She'd woken the morning after her other nights drinking feeling no different than she had before, but this time was a complete exception to that.

She opened her eyes and immediately her mind went to Enjolras. Sober, she could see that he had been incredibly perturbed by her behaviour, which was enough to make her feel awkward. She remembered how _happy_ she had been, how she had been prancing and dancing through the streets, almost singing when ever she spoke.

And then there was the nail in her coffin on embarrassment, one phrase shouted out to the night and now being screamed in her head: _I think you're handsome_.

Éponine pressed her hands over her eyes and curled up into a small ball, wondering what on earth had made her say that to _Enjolras_ of all people.

XXX

She decided to go to the library. Gavroche was in one of his more giddy moods, and was, for once, unwilling to wander around the streets; he had been pestering her for an entire morning. Finally, she threw a shawl over her shoulders and left the flat.

Now she was alone, thoughts of the night before pressed forwards, forcing her to relive every second. Then she had been happy, giddy, revelling in the fact she could tease Enjolras and delighting in the obvious discomfort her words brought. Now she just felt stupid.

He _was_ a handsome man. No one could deny that, not once they had seen him. Handsome wasn't even the right word – _beautiful_ was nearer the mark, as there was something distinctly feminine in his looks, but also something very masculine. It was hard for her to define, but she knew he was definitely the most physically attractive man she had ever seen in her life, even more attractive than Marius if she was completely honest with herself.

But the difference between Enjolras and Marius – the difference between Enjolras and other men, let alone just the object of her affections – was he was definitely unobtainable. A lot of his friends were handsome enough; Courfeyrac had a lovely smile, and Combeferre was easy enough on the eye in his own bookish way.

However, they were warm, open people. Enjolras was a kind man, in his own way, and she had observed many a time when she was alive that he could be very warm-hearted indeed when it came to his friends, particularly Combeferre or Courfeyrac. And who could forget the times when he went off on a tangent about Feuilly? But she had never, ever, not in all of her times at these meetings, seen him show any of that warmth towards a woman. There were always women present at the meetings, despite the nature of what were discussed at the meetings. Women drinking, dancing, engaging in frivolities with the students. Enjolras ignored all of them. He'd ignored _her_. The first time they had really spoken was when they died.

He was simply not the sort of man one told he was _handsome_. It seemed so silly – so trivial – and she hated the fact that Bliss had loosened her tongue enough to say it. There was also a worry for her that he would read into it. What if he thought she held affections for him? What if he thought she'd replaced Marius with him?

She wasn't even sure she liked Enjolras as a person, let alone harboured feelings of a romantic nature towards him. She certainly didn't want to see him anytime soon.

She was caught up in this muddle of thoughts as she walked into the library. She found herself in the romantic fiction section, running her fingers aimlessly over the spines of books. None of it appealed to her at the moment, not whilst her thoughts were elsewhere.

"Hello, Éponine," a voice cut in. She looked up into the smiling face of Combeferre, partly surprised and partly happy to see someone.

"Hello," she replied.

"You look very distracted," Combeferre observed. "Is everything all right with you?"

"I was just…thinking," Éponine muttered.

"Yes, that much was obvious." Combeferre had three books tucked under one of his arms, and his eyebrows were raised in her direction. "You know, one of the men I live with was sporting a similar expression to yours this morning."

She turned her attention back to the books in front of her. "I wasn't aware Courfeyrac was capable of deep thinking."

"Very amusing, Éponine, but I was referring to the other one," Combeferre said, gently. "As I'm sure you know."

Éponine groaned. "What of it?"

"He came home last night and said he walked you home," Combeferre said. "He said you'd been drinking, and were behaving rather oddly. I think he was worried about you."

"He had no need to be."

"Yes, I said that to him," Combeferre nodded. "You can take care of yourself. But Enjolras has always been one to worry about his friends."

"We're hardly _friends_, Combeferre," Éponine pointed out. "We barely speak, and when we do, we tend to end up arguing."

"Enjolras would not have walked anyone home," Combeferre said. "I know him well. I also know him well enough to notice that Enjolras was _blushing_ when he spoke of you last night." Now Combeferre's eyes were twinkling. Éponine felt the mortification rise up once more.

"I may…I may have _said_ some things," she said, haltingly.

"Such as?" Combeferre prompted. "Enjolras was rather tight-lipped about it all."

She shot Combeferre a reproachful look. "Then maybe I shouldn't say something. Clearly, he doesn't care for you to know."

"True," Combeferre said, "But he doesn't have to know that I know."

Éponine sighed. "I told him I thought he was handsome," she said, in a voice so quiet she was sure Combeferre had to struggle to hear her. Her fingertips pressed harder into the spine of one of the books on the shelf.

"Excuse me?"

"Combeferre, I _know_ you heard me, so don't make me repeat it," Éponine hissed.

"I heard you say you told Enjolras he was handsome, and wondered if I might have misheard." Combeferre shook his head, like a dog shaking water out of his fur. "Judging by the blush on your cheeks right now, I did _not_ overhear." His face softened. "Oh, Éponine. Why are you embarrassed? It's normal to find people –"

"It's _Enjolras_," she burst out. "He's – I can't explain it – he's just one of those people I don't think needs to know I think he's handsome. He was very obviously embarrassed about it all –"

"He gets embarrassed when any girl refers to his looks," Combeferre said. "He always has done. Enjolras is a very clever man, he has read a lot, knows a lot, but the opposite sex are a definite mystery to him. For a long, long time I wasn't even sure he even realised that women existed, but then one night he drank too much wine and..." Combeferre shrugged.

"And?" Éponine prompted.

"Enjolras saw women as temptation – distraction from his mission to stop oppression," Combeferre explained, bluntly. "So he avoided women. Actually, I'm going to say _avoids_ women, because I'm not sure where this thing translates to the grand scheme of things now he's dead. But the point is, Éponine, women have always made Enjolras feel uncomfortable."

"He never looks me in the eye," Éponine murmured.

"You're a woman," Combeferre pointed out. "You're _tempting_."

Éponine snorted. "Please, Combeferre. I'm anything but tempting. When I was alive I was a dirty gamine, underfed, too skinny, and I'm missing teeth, and I look older than I am. I doubt there's anything tempting about me to someone like Enjolras." _I never tempted Marius_, a nasty thought spat at the back of her mind.

A sort of sadness flitted over Combeferre's face at her words. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Éponine," he said quietly.

Embarrassment tied itself into a tight knot in her stomach. She swallowed. "Don't be," she murmured. "I'm not."

Out of her corner of her eye, she saw Combeferre's hand raise into the air and reach towards her shoulder. But then he dropped it, and adjusted his grip on the books he was carrying instead.

"Would you like company on your walk home?" Combeferre offered, clearing his throat.

"Yes, please," Éponine said, grateful of the change of subject. "I won't be a moment, I just need to pick a book."

"Of course," Combeferre replied, bowing his head. "Take as long as you like…"


	29. fight

**29**

Afterwards, they strolled through the streets, making their way back to Éponine's flat at a leisurely pace. There was no rush, and they had both begun to discuss the mystery novel series they had both been reading.

"I enjoyed the last one, but I thought that – that it was _missing_ something," Combeferre said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't holding his books. "Also, the story was too fantastical for my liking."

"Too fantastical?" Éponine snorted. "You live in the afterlife where you can materialise things at will, how can it be too fantastical?"

"I'm not a big fan of fantasy, that's all," Combeferre smiled.

"Éponine!" a woman's voice called from behind them.

Éponine stopped walking and turned, looking over her shoulder. It hadn't been a voice she recognised, and was surprised when she saw Inès' housemate walking towards her. In the light of day, she saw a pretty face, big eyes, and slender hands; once more there was a shawl draped over her head, and tufts of blonde hair poked out from beneath.

"Hello," Éponine said, feeling uncertain as to what the woman wanted.

"No need to look so nervous, Éponine," the woman said. "I just wanted to thank you for spending last night with Inès. It isn't often I see her have fun or smile, and it made a lovely change. So I what I'm saying is, thank you for being – a friend, I suppose. Inès doesn't have many of those."

"You know, it doesn't add up," a snide voice drawled. "A _Thenardier_, being someone's friend? I didn't think Thenardiers _had_ friends, just people they liked to piss on."

Douvillier, a man she had never wanted to see again, emerged from the mouth of an alleyway. The last time she had seen him, they had been in the dim light of another alley, but the light threw the cross-shaped scars over his face into sharper relief. He stared at her with dark eyes, as cold as ice. The focus of his gaze was intense, so intense she was convinced he hadn't truly noticed that she had company. It was as if he only had eyes for her.

"You won't outwit me this time, Thenardier," Douvillier spat, before lunging forwards.

Éponine stumbled backwards, dropping her books. They hit the cobbled ground with a dull thud. She threw her hands up, expecting him to hit her, but Combeferre moved faster and positioned himself in between Douvillier and Éponine. His own heap of books fell from his arms, and he grabbed Douvillier's wrists with his hands.

"You will not hurt her," Combeferre said in a sharp, hard voice.

"Get off me," Douvillier snarled, and then his head jerked forward, his forehead slamming into Combeferre's nose. Combeferre released him, and Douvillier shoved him aside and grabbed Éponine by the throat, one hand knotting in her hair. He began to drag her towards the alleyway.

She clawed at his hands, nails biting deep, twisting his flesh. She cursed the fact that no one felt pain here, and groped up his arms. Letting out a small shriek, she flung herself forward, putting all of her weight into the lunge so that Douvillier was forced to bear it. He staggered backwards and they both hit the ground hard, him on top of her. The force of it knocked the breath out of her lungs, but she didn't let that stop her. Her legs kicked out instantly, her knee driving into his stomach. She tried twisting away from him, but the weight of him was suddenly relieved as Combeferre hauled Douvillier away from her.

She lay on the ground, panting, and felt the woman's hands touching her shoulders. "Are you okay?" the woman said, as Combeferre delivered a short, sharp punch to Douvillier's jaw.

"I'm fine," Éponine muttered, regretting the curt edge to her tone. She scrambled to her feet as Douvillier tackled Combeferre around the waist and pinned him to the ground.

She ran forward and launched herself onto Douvillier's back, wrapping her arms around his neck and locking her hands around her wrists. Her mouth fixed on the point where Douvillier's neck turned into shoulders, and she drove her teeth in as deep as she could. She ignored the unpleasant taste in her mouth.

He stood up, spinning around, his hands wrenching at her arms. She folded her legs around his waist and hips and, keeping one arm wrapped tight around his throat, let go with her other arm to yank on his hair. She released his throat with her mouth and bit the side of his face.

"You _bitch_!" Douvillier screamed.

Combeferre jumped towards them, grabbing Douvillier by the front of his jacket and hauling him forwards. Éponine let go of him, allowing herself to drop to the ground. She rolled up onto her feet as Combeferre punched Douvillier in the face once more, this time keeping a tight hold on Douvillier's jacket.

But the other man just wrestled himself out of his jacket, revealing a grubby shirt that had probably once been white underneath. He swung in a circle, his fist coming out and connecting with Éponine's nose. She let out a small grunt as she hit the ground hard, but she was barely lying on the round for more than a few seconds before Douvillier had grabbed her and dragged her to her feet. Once more he tried forcing her towards the alley.

"Get away from me!" Éponine screamed. "Just _go_!"

She placed her hands on the middle of his chest and shoved him, with all her might, and that was when it happened.

Something opened behind Douvillier; it was like a tear in the scenery behind him, a black gash that became wider and wider. It seemed to Éponine she was watching it open both very slowly and incredibly fast at the same time, and then the tear was glowing a faint blue around the edges.

Douvillier's eyes widened. He was still in the middle of a stumble, and he flung his arms out to try and right himself. He became shadowed by the tear, and then fell deeper inside. The glowing edges knitted together and then the gash, along with Douvillier, vanished.

There was silence. They were all still. Combeferre looked at her, and she looked at him.

The woman, who had watched the entire scene kneeling on the ground where she had tried to comfort Éponine, was the first to move. She stood, covered her face with her hands, and then turned on her heel and walked off.

Combeferre moved next, planting his hands on Éponine's shoulders. He swallowed. "Éponine, are you okay?" he said.

"I'm fine," she said, more than a little breathless. She couldn't take her eyes off the spot where Douvillier had been, where that odd tear in the world had been. "What…What was that?"

Combeferre glanced over his shoulder, staring at the same space she had been. "I don't know," he said. "But we're going to deal with it, Éponine. We're going to see Éléonore and tell her what happened."

She looked him in the eye. She felt, then, like she was moments away from falling apart.

Combeferre drew her close, hugging her tightly. She clung to him, her fingers knotting into his coat.

"It's going to be all right, Éponine," he murmured. "He's gone. That man is gone. And even if he wasn't, I wouldn't let him hurt you, Éponine. I would have stopped him."

"I know," Éponine mumbled in a watery voice, and pressed her face deeper into Combeferre's chest, wishing that this entire episode had never happened.


	30. reassurance

**30**

Combeferre held her for what felt like hours, but she knew it must only have been a few minutes. Then he held her at arms length again.

"Let's go," he said. He walked away from her, collecting their slightly battered books from where they lay on the cobbles. Then he took her hand in his, and squeezed. "I will carry your books," he said. "Come on."

They had been walking for a couple of minutes when she pulled her hand out of his grip.

"Thank you," she murmured. She was thanking him for a lot of things, so she didn't feel the need to specify what she was grateful for. He seemed to understand, as he gave her a smile. She wiped her hands on her skirts. Her hands still trembled, but she no longer felt like she wanted to vomit.

They reached the guardian's building, and immediately ran into Éléonore in the lobby. She was deep in conversation with a middle-aged woman with cornflower blue eyes. She looked up when they entered.

"…I'm sorry, Juliette, I'm going to have to leave you with this," Éléonore murmured, handing over a collection of papers to the woman. Juliette glanced at Éponine and Combeferre, nodded, and turned to walk away.

"Is everything all right?" Éléonore said, touching a hand to the wide lace choker around her throat, fingers pressing into the emerald placed n the centre.

"I'm sorry if you're busy," Combeferre said, "But something has just happened and I wanted to tell you about it."

Éléonore's forehead creased. "It's nothing that can't wait," she said. "You both look a bit dishevelled, I didn't realise the library was so dangerous these days!" She fixed a smile on her face. "Come, we'll go somewhere more private."

Instead of taking them to one of their plain meeting rooms, she took them to a small library. There were four chairs in there, as well as a desk; the walls were lined with bookshelves, and on closer inspection, all of the books were written by Clémence Lefebvre.

Éponine sank into one of the chairs. She hadn't realised until then how much she had needed to sit down. Combeferre and Éléonore hovered by the door; as she looked at them, Combeferre was pressing a kiss to the apple of Éléonore's cheek. She looked away quickly, feeling like she was intruding.

A moment later, Éléonore sat in the chair opposite Éponine, whilst Combeferre took the one next to her. He placed their books onto the desk before he sat down.

"We were walking from the library when Éponine was attacked by a man," Combeferre said. "I did not know him, but –"

"He borrowed money from my father and couldn't pay him back so my father ruined him," Éponine muttered in explanation. "He's determined to make me pay for that."

"If you're looking for protection there is a faction here that deals with crime," Éléonore said, cupping her chin in her hand. Her jewelled rings glinted. "We would have this man arrested, and it would go to trial. We have prisons…"

"That's not why we're here," Combeferre interrupted. "Although, if he resurfaces, that would be welcome…However, the man vanished."

"Our men could find him," Éléonore said, looking confused. "It's what we're trained for…"

"No, I mean, he literally vanished," Combeferre said.

"I pushed him," Éponine explicated, "And, like, this thing _opened_ behind him – it looked like a tear, in a wall, and it got wider, and he fell into it, and then it closed and he was gone."

Silence met her words. Éléonore's eyebrows knitted together. She cleared her throat and leaned forward in her chair. Her hand dropped from her chin and both of her hands linked together on her lap.

"Exactly _what _happened?" she said. "You just pushed him?"

"I put my hands on his chest and I shoved," Éponine said, wondering how on earth that could be confusing Éléonore.

"Did you say anything?" Éléonore pushed.

"I said – I said _just go_, before I pushed him."

"And this – this tear, what did it look like?"

Combeferre and Éponine looked at each other. It was Combeferre that answered. "It was, as Éponine said, like a tear – like in fabric. It got wider, until it was bigger than him in width; I'd say it was taller than him, from the ground upwards, and he was quite a tall man. The edges glowed blue, but faintly. Once he had fallen through, it just moved back together. It closed."

"And it was silent, I assume?" Éléonore said.

"I was too amazed by its presence to notice a noise," Combeferre confessed. "Éponine?"

"I was the same," Éponine murmured.

Éléonore's eyes fixed on the ceiling for a few heartbeats, then she looked at Éponine.

"Éponine, do you remember a few days ago you came across Inès looking at a Portal?" she said.

Éponine was so surprised by the rapid change of subject that she gaped for a few moments before answering. "Yes, I remember," she said, slowly.

"You closed it," Éléonore said. "You closed _her_ Portal. And when you told me that, it made me wonder, because as I said to you, you should not have been able to close another person's Portal. It's impossible, and you did it. And you did something today that you shouldn't have been able to do."

"Have you heard of it before?" Combeferre asked.

Éléonore's eyes flickered briefly from Éponine to the man who had just spoken.

"Yes," she said. "But it isn't common, not at all. It's nothing for Éponine to worry about, so I don't want any panicking; it's not a bad thing. It is just very unusual. The thing is – I've never dealt with this, none of us deal with this. We'll have to refer to an expert."

"Another Guardian?" Combeferre guessed.

"No," Éléonore said. "The expert I have in mind doesn't live here – they live in our area but they live far away. I'll need to send a messenger and have them come and visit. But be aware, they might want you to go to them. They can be a bit picky."

"And they'll be able to explain everything to Éponine?" Combeferre said. Éléonore nodded, and Combeferre gave Éponine a reassuring smile.

"What of Douvillier?" Éponine said. "The man I…Whatever I did, to…"

"I can't say, Éponine," Éléonore murmured. "I'm really not certain. We'll just have to wait and see. But if he turns up again, come straight to me and I will put you in touch with our version of a police force who will deal with it for you."

Éponine agreed that she would, but her inherent distrust of the law meant she had no intention of doing that. They bade Éléonore goodbye, and left the building.

"Your hands are still shaking," Combeferre murmured as they walked.

She shot him a reproachful look.

"You don't have to go straight back to your flat," he continued. "Come to mine for a bit. You can have some tea. When I left, Courfeyrac was conjuring macaroons."

"Actual macaroons, or the ingredients for?" Éponine questioned.

Combeferre hesitated. "Unfortunately, I think it was just the ingredients…"

The idea of Courfeyrac trying to tackle baking macaroons was somewhat horrifying to Éponine, but she then thought of Gavroche jumping around the flat and decided to accept Combeferre's offer.

Combeferre's flat was a mess when they arrived; there was sugar everywhere, all over the floorboards and the sofas and every available surface, and egg whites were, for some reason, smattered over a painting hung on the wall furthest from the kitchen.

Courfeyrac was nowhere to be found, and neither were the macaroons he was supposed to have made; but Enjolras was sat on the sofas, reading a thick book bound in red leather.

She hadn't anticipated seeing him, not so soon, and she felt a bit horrified. Combeferre's face became somewhat amused upon realising the situation.

"Hello, Enjolras," Combeferre said. "How has your day been?"

"Boring," Enjolras replied, turning the page in his book. He hadn't looked up since they had come through the doors.

"Ours has been very exciting," Combeferre said, shrugging out of his coat. "Hasn't it, Éponine?"

Éponine watched as Enjolras' shoulders went slightly stiff, and then he looked up. As usual, his eyes hovered somewhere over Éponine's shoulder. "Éponine," he said, in a tone that was both polite and uncertain. His brow furrowed. "You both look a bit dishevelled," he said. "Has something happened?"

Éponine looked at herself in the mirror that hung next to the door. Her hair was sticking up in every direction and it had largely come loose from where it had been pinned up that morning; there was a tear in the shoulder of her dress, and a smudge of dirt across one cheek. She then looked at Combeferre, really looked at him for the first time since their encounter with Douvillier, and saw dust all over his coat, a cravat that was loose and a few buttons on his shirt undone; like her, his hair was a mess.

"We were attacked," Combeferre said, batting dust off his coat.

"_Attacked_?" Enjolras said, incredulous. He closed his book and put it to one side. "Are you being serious?"

"Would I lie about something like that?" Éponine watched as Combeferre opened a cupboard and pulled out a decanter of what looked like Bliss. He retrieved two glasses from the same cupboard and placed them on the table. "Éponine, would you like a glass?"

"Why not," she replied, trying hard not to think of the escapades of the night before. Combeferre removed the stopper from the decanter and poured some Bliss into a glass; he then pushed it across the table towards her. She walked forwards and picked it up, staring down at the clear liquid.

"What happened?" Enjolras pressed. "In more detail than just _we were attacked_."

"It was a man after Éponine," Combeferre explained. "Éponine can explain it better."

"He was…an acquaintance of my father who wants to hurt me," Éponine said, her voice getting quieter as she spoke. She knocked back the entire glass of Bliss in one go as her mind tried to wander to what his revenge could entail.

"Was he the same man that attacked you before?" Enjolras asked.

She thought back to the day in the alley when she had hit Douvillier with her book; she remembered that it was Enjolras who had found her, not long after, and stayed with her to make sure that Douvillier didn't chase her once more.

"Yes," she said. "It was."

Enjolras shook his head and glanced at Combeferre. "So I imagine you protected her?"

"I didn't need _protecting_," Éponine bristled.

"To be quite fair, in the end, Éponine didn't need my help." Combeferre explained the tear as briefly as he could to Enjolras.

Éponine hovered near the table, having put her glass down. She could feel the weight of Enjolras' stare as he watched her, taking in Combeferre's revelation.

"So we just need to wait for this expert to come and talk to Éponine," Combeferre finished.

"You weren't exaggerating when you said that you'd had an exciting day, were you?" Enjolras murmured. "What do you think it means?"

"I have no idea," Combeferre admitted. "I can't begin to imagine."

Éponine cleared her throat. "I was promised macaroons," she said, wanting to steer the conversation away from her.

"You were, weren't you," Combeferre said, before giving a small humming noise. "Enjolras, did Courfeyrac make macaroons in the end?"

Enjolras grumbled under his breath. "No," he said. "Jehan interrupted, there was a fight involving sugar and egg whites, and then they decided to go to the nearest tavern to meet up with Bahorel and Grantaire."

"Sorry, Éponine," Combeferre said. "We have no macaroons."

"We could always conjure some," she suggested.

"Good idea," Combeferre said. "You do that, whilst I make us some tea."

Éponine quickly realised that she was much more adept at conjuring than Combeferre, as she managed to create a plate of macaroons a long time before he even finished conjuring a teapot.

She carried the macaroons over to the sofa, and offered one to Enjolras. He took one.

"He's being very cheerful," she said quietly, placing the plate down onto the sofa cushion next to Enjolras. She sat on one of the armchairs.

"I think – forgive me if I'm wrong – he's trying to make you feel better," Enjolras said. "If I know Combeferre, he's just trying to make things normal for you."

"Tea and macaroons with two dead revolutionaries isn't normal for me," she said.

"Maybe not Éponine who is alive, but for dead Éponine, it's a regular occurrence," Enjolras contradicted.

"Not tea and macaroons. Bliss and silly dancing is what I'm used to." Éponine tried to smile at him. He didn't smile back.

"I don't drink," he said.

"I know," she sighed in response, sitting back in her seat, wishing Combeferre had offered more Bliss instead of tea; it might have made conversing with Enjolras a little easier.


	31. voices

**31**

"So this…_acquaintance_ of your father's," Enjolras said, in a manner which was probably supposed to be casual. "Why would he want to hurt you?"

Éponine stared at the tray that Combeferre had just placed onto the table between the sofas, with its teapot and cups.

"He wants revenge," she said, eventually, as Combeferre began to pour the tea. "He…He borrowed money from my father, and he couldn't pay him back. My father ruined him as punishment, and had a member of his gang – Montparnasse – slash his face."

"I had noticed he had quite distinctive scarring," Combeferre commented.

"Sometimes, that's what my father would do," Éponine shrugged. "Scar people. There was this woman, once…she was a prostitute, and my father had been bullying her into giving him most of her earnings, and one evening she said she'd met someone who wanted to marry her. She was showing off about some ring the man had given her, his family ring with an unusual crest on it, and…and he had his friend Gueulemer heat the ring in the fire and then press it to her forehead and cheeks. I was eleven when he did that. I don't think she ever did get married."

She realised that both of the men had become very quiet and were just looking at her. She shrugged.

"My father was not a good man," she said, reaching out for the cup of tea that Combeferre had prepared for her. She raised it to her lips, taking a sip. "I'd go as far as to say he was one of the worst types of men that exist."

She rested the cup on her knee.

"Sometimes – sometimes, I wonder why he's still alive," she continued. "Someone like him, who can be so cruel, who cheats people for a living, who ruins lives and would kill a child if it meant he'd get a few coins, can still be walking the earth when other people are dead."

"Éponine…" Combeferre began, but she carried on speaking anyway.

"It just seems unfair," she said. "I look at you two – one of you had so many plans, things he wanted to see and the other one of the kindest people I've ever met, and I think of Courfeyrac with his big heart and hardworking Feuilly and Bahorel's smile and I wonder how any of you deserved to die when a man as disgusting as my father is still walking around. How is that _fair_? And Gavroche, his own son, who had so much to do…and then I think, _did_ Gavroche have anything to live for? Really, did he? Because that man, our father, cast him out on the streets when he was barely more than a baby. What sort of _life_ is that?"

Éponine blinked rapidly, suddenly realising the words that had tumbled out of her mouth.

"Maybe…" Combeferre began, slowly, as if he was trying to choose his words carefully, "Maybe we were meant to die. In the grand scheme of things, I mean to say; maybe it was just our time. As for your father…"

"If anyone has ever deserved to not be alive I believe it is that man," Éponine said, her tone edged by bitterness. "At least then he would be here and Douvillier could direct his anger towards him instead of at _me_."

"Your father's presence would be no guarantee of your safety," Combeferre pointed out. "He might try to hurt your father through you."

"It wouldn't work," Éponine snorted. "If my father ever cared for me, it was a long time ago, when I was still a child. He'd probably just be glad that _he_ wasn't suffering. I know him well enough."

She cleared her throat. "But enough of that, it's depressing me. Enjolras, what book were you reading when we came in? Was it anything interesting?"

She was grateful that the two men allowed the conversation to move on, before she said anything else that made things uncomfortable. She'd never realised before what a knack she had for that sort of thing.

XXX

The following day, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire and Bahorel turned up early in the morning to take Gavroche horse riding. She hadn't been told this was happening by any of them, but according to Courfeyrac it had been planned for a while. They asked her if she wanted to join them, but she had never had any desire to ride a horse in her life so she turned them down.

Instead, she decided to go to Combeferre and see if he wanted to go for a walk. As she ambled over to his flat, she thought to herself that she needed to find something else to occupy herself that didn't involve walking or reading.

She was just musing on the idea of taking up embroidery as she knocked on Combeferre's flat door and waited for someone to answer. It was Enjolras who opened the door, looking a bit confused.

"Éponine," he said. "Is everything all right?"

"Is Combeferre in?" she asked, linking her hands together in front of her.

He shook his head, blond curls bouncing. "Sorry, he's with Éléonore at the guardian's building," he said. "She's agreed to show him through the procedure of introducing the dead."

"Oh." Éponine bit her lip. "That's…a shame. All right then. I'll see you soon."

"Is it anything I could help you with?" Enjolras asked, as she began to turn away.

"Hmm?" She looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Is it anything I can help you with?" Enjolras repeated.

"Oh – it's nothing I need _help_ with – I just fancied going for a walk and I wondered if he would want to join me." She paused, feeling a bit like she'd said the wrong thing. She cleared her throat. "Unless _you_ wanted to join me, of course."

His eyebrows rose upwards in what she assumed was surprise. "For a walk? To the library, or…?"

"Just…around," she said, vaguely, pulling on the fringe of her shawl. "I don't really have a particular destination in mind, I just feel a little restless."

"Yes, I'll come with you," he said. "After yesterday, and what happened with that man, it wouldn't be fair of me to let you walk around alone."

She rolled her eyes. "How chivalrous."

"It has been known to happen," he said, dryly. "Just wait a moment, I'll go and put on my coat."

A few minutes later, they were walking along the street together.

"I had wanted to speak to you, Enjolras," she said, after a while. It was something she had been mulling over in her head, and it was worth getting it out of the way now, she had decided. "About the other night…when I had been drinking with Inès."

She saw a little blush cover Enjolras' cheeks. Clearing his throat, he said, "What is there to speak about?"

"I had drunk a lot of Bliss," Éponine admitted, "And I was behaving in a silly manner. I'm sorry if I said anything that made you feel uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable isn't the word I would use," he said.

"It is the word I would use, though," she said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," Enjolras said, and he gave a short laugh. "It's not something to apologise for. You weren't mean to me, you were just…teasing. It's no different to how Courfeyrac would behave."

"Still," she said, heaving a sigh, "I do feel a bit…silly."

"Isn't that what that drink does?" Enjolras said. "Makes you feel silly? I think that's the point. But at the time, you were enjoying yourself. It would be wrong of me to begrudge you enjoying yourself for once. Despite what you seem to think of me, I am not a heartless person."

"I've never thought you were heartless," Éponine said, feeling a little surprised at what he said. "I may have implied so in a temper, but I've never honestly thought that. A heartless man would never have gone to the lengths you did whilst you were alive to make a difference to other's lives."

"You're being unusually kind, Éponine," Enjolras said, looking as if he was fighting a smile. "But my attempts were worth nothing in the end."

"I don't know about that," Éponine said. "None of us do, not really. We're not alive anymore. We can only see the living world through Portals…we may have made more of an impact than you expect."

"I doubt it."

"Maybe it just helped towards making progress," Éponine suggested. "Maybe it was never meant to make a full impact. Clearly, it wasn't your time."

"Yes, but you were right," Enjolras replied in a quiet voice. "It shouldn't have been anyone's time to die on those days. You, you shouldn't have been there."

"I was there because…" Éponine twisted her fingers together, then righted her shawl as she began to feel it slip from her shoulders. "Because…I think…I'm coming to terms with it, in my own way."

"Do you still blame me?" Enjolras asked, as they reached the river and descended the steps to the bank.

"I blame…" She clutched a handful of fabric, feeling the smooth cotton beneath her palm. "I blame everything," she said, eventually. "I can't answer your question honestly, Enjolras."

"At least that's an honest answer in itself," he remarked.

She found herself smiling, even though the turn their conversation had taken hadn't left her feeling particularly happy.

"What are we going to do, Enjolras?" she said, staring out over the river.

"Carry on," Enjolras replied, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I don't think we really have a choice, do you?"

"No, I suppose not…" she murmured, and then frowned. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Enjolras joined her at the edge of the riverbank.

There was nothing beyond the river, as usual, just stretching grass, but she could _hear_ something. She could hear murmuring, a collection of indistinct voices but obviously _voices_ nonetheless. She couldn't pick out their genders, but she could hear them, chattering away.

Enjolras' brow furrowed. "I do," he said, quietly. "Just about. Talking, you mean?"

"Yes, the talking." Éponine strained to hear, then glanced around. "There's no one else about."

Enjolras' eyes followed her gaze up and down the riverbank, which was empty, and then up onto the rest of the main town.

"You're right," he said. "There's nobody else in sight."

"But yet," Éponine murmured, "I can hear people talking." The voices were getting clearer now. She could hear women, hear men, hear the high-pitched voices of children.

"_Don't look at me! None of this is my fault! I thought someone would be here…_"

"_Obviously not, how long do you think we'll be stuck on the other side now_?"

"_This is such a waste of time. I didn't walk all this way…_"

"I can hear what they're saying," Éponine said, her teeth sinking in to her lower lip. "Can you?"

Enjolras shook his head, blond curls bouncing. "No," he said, out loud. "I can't hear them. I can just hear mumbling, and even then, it's very quiet."

"_None of us walked all this way to be stuck here, Arnaud, so shush_!"

"I think they're on the other side of the river," Éponine murmured.

"Éponine, there's nothing on the other side of the river," Enjolras pointed out. His voice sounded very far away.

"If we could find away to cross…"

"I've walked up and down this river countless times," Enjolras said. "I've never once seen a bridge."

"You can't possibly have walked the entire length of the river," Éponine said. "This place is huge, vast – Éléonore said it will take the expert a while to travel – it must be longer than _this_ –"

"Of course I haven't walked the entire length but I am not walking with you to find a bridge that might not exist," Enjolras said, sounding more than a little exasperated.

"But I can hear them!" Éponine pushed a hand through her hair. "I can hear them, Enjolras, and they're over the river…"

A hand touched hers, warm fingers wrapping around her hand and gently tugging her arm backwards. Her hand was limp at first, but when she recognised his touch she gripped his hand back.

"Éponine, I think we need to leave here," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I don't know what it is you can hear, but considering everything else about you that is – unusual, even by this place's standards – you don't need something else on your shoulders. Wait until you have heard from the expert, and then you can come and investigate."

This time, his voice did not sound so far away; it was very obviously behind her, and the voices across the river faded away until they were back to that indistinct murmur.

She pulled her hand away from Enjolras, and turned around to face him. She gave him a small smile.

"You're right," she said, nodding. "I'll…come back another time."

Together, they turned back to the steps, and left the riverbank behind.


	32. group

**32**

Gavroche came home that evening a bubble of pure excitement, with Courfeyrac, Prouvaire and Bahorel in tow.

He chattered excitedly about their day spent riding horses and how wonderful it had been, whilst the men chipped in occasionally to explain finer details. The horses themselves were kept on a farm not too far from the Guardian's building; the couple that ran it took in the spirits of horses that arrived there, and offered out riding lessons to anyone who wanted them. According to Courfeyrac, it was a massive, sprawling collection of stables in the middle of all the other houses, but it was in the opposite direction to anywhere Éponine had ever bothered walking.

"You could come next time," Courfeyrac suggested as she conjured them cakes to eat.

"I've never really wanted to ride a horse," Éponine said, breaking a bit of sponge cake off in her hand and popping it into her mouth. It tasted strongly of vanilla, was very sweet, and Gavroche would probably love it. Brushing the crumbs off her fingertips she held her hands over the top and imagined the appearance, texture and flavour of butter cream icing. "I also can't imagine it coming to much use here."

"It doesn't need a use," Bahorel said. "You just have to enjoy it."

"Yeah, 'Ponine," Gavroche said, bouncing around the room chasing Hyacinthe. "You can come next time. It was so much fun. Courfeyrac fell off a horse."

"It wasn't my most shining moment," Courfeyrac admitted. "But everyone else got a good laugh out of it."

"The thought of you falling off a horse would be my only incentive," she said, "Now stop pestering, please, and put this cake on the table."

Courfeyrac's lower lip jutted out as he accepted the plate off her. "Would you really find the idea of me falling off a horse that entertaining?"

"Of course I would." She conjured another plate, and began to work on conjuring some éclairs.

"You're cruel," Courfeyrac sighed, placing the plate and cake on the table. Prouvaire swooped onto it and dragged his finger through the thick layer of icing on top of the cake, then placing it in his mouth.

"Thank you for that," Éponine murmured, imagining chocolate on top of the cream-filled choux pastry fingers she had created.

"I was just testing it," Prouvaire objected, as Courfeyrac and Bahorel both gathered to mimic his actions. "We're all testing it," he added, the innocent expression he had arranged onto his face wilting somewhat under the force of Éponine's scowl.

"Can we eat now?" Gavroche whined, flopping onto the sofa, having tired of his game with the kitten. Hyacinthe hopped onto the sofa and then clambered onto the boy's stomach, crouching there and staring at Courfeyrac, Prouvaire and Bahorel with suspicious blue eyes.

"I'm just going to make some macaroons," Éponine said. "Bahorel, _stop _eating the icing and put these on the table, please. And no picking chocolate off the top!"

Bahorel took the plate off her, but disobeyed her final order by shoving an entire éclair in his mouth at once. He put the plate next to the cake and then braced his hands on the edges of the table, clearly struggling to chew the pastry he had crammed into his mouth.

Éponine shook her head as she began to conjure macaroons.

"Your cakes are almost as nice as Bérénice's," Prouvaire informed her.

"Really?" Éponine didn't believe him. "But she's a professional."

"And you could be one as well," Prouvaire said. "I like Bérénice, but the only good thing about having her around is the cakes she brings, and even _that_ isn't necessarily worth the arguments her presence causes between Bossuet and Joly."

"It's a shame," Bahorel said. "They were so close. The offer is there, though, if you want to move in with Feuilly, Grantaire and I."

"After decorating the house to my specifications, I don't want to leave it," Prouvaire shrugged. "If anyone is leaving that house, it is those two, after the effort I put in."

"I'm surprised they didn't leave when you painted Bossuet's bedroom lime green," Courfeyrac said. "He really opposed to that colour in particular."

"And Joly to orange," Bahorel chipped in.

"Anyway…" Prouvaire sighed. "I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if Bossuet didn't move in with Bérénice soon."

"Are their arguments _that_ bad?" Éponine asked. "It was awkward when they had one in front of us, but…They were always very close, weren't they?"

"Yes, but I think that's the problem," Courfeyrac said, folding his arms over his chest. "I think that Joly feels he's losing his friend to Bérénice."

"And is he?" Éponine rearranged some of her conjured macaroons so they weren't piled so haphazardly on the plate.

"Bossuet is in love," Prouvaire said, "And Joly is grieving. I think Joly thinks it is a very unfair turn of events."

"Can we eat cake now?" Gavroche whined. "This conversation is _boring_."

Éponine rolled her eyes. "Come and sit at the table," she ordered, carrying the plate of macaroons over to place them with the rest of the cakes.

She ate her choices of desserts whilst Gavroche continued his chatter concerning the horses. She half heard his request that, if they found a dead horse wandering around, they could take it in; she vaguely heard Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Jehan bouncing ideas off each other about how it would be best to keep a horse in a house.

All the while, her mind was very firmly back at the side of the river, hearing those whispering, panicked voices.

She had wanted so desperately to _look_ for them, but she also knew that there was sense in the words that Enjolras had spoken. Now she was away from him, she was yearning to go back there and try and find some answers…

She bit into an éclair, cream covering her tongue, when she heard the voices once more.

"_It's going dark, and I don't _like _the dark_," one of the voices was saying.

"_Oh, stop being such a baby. We don't even need to go to sleep if you're that scared –_"

"_What else would we do, Arnaud? What would you suggest? Light a fire and sing songs?_"

"_Please stop bickering, you two. I haven't gone through all of this to listen to you two argue! Something will come, I promise, we just have to be patient_…"

Éponine realised that the chatter around the table had stopped, and aside from the voices, the room had become very quiet. She looked up. The three men and Gavroche were all turned away from her, heads twisting towards the looking glass on the wall.

With a start she realised that there were shapes moving in the glass. She had unintentionally created a Portal, she very quickly deduced.

"Is that…?" Courfeyrac trailed off, slowly getting to his feet. He glanced at the rest of them, and suddenly moved, vaulting over the sofa and hurrying over to the looking glass. Bahorel hurried after him, with Prouvaire hot on his heels, Gavroche scurrying behind them both.

Éponine sighed and stood up as well, walking at a slower pace over to the mirror and gently pushing her way through them all. "I'm sorry, this was me, I did it by accident," she said, flapping her hands. "It's really not that interesting."

"It's a Portal," Courfeyrac said. "I haven't seen one before."

Éponine squinted at the Portal. The image was dark, all purples and blues as night had fallen, but she could still see people. There were six of them; it was too dark to work out exactly what they looked like, but she could see that three of them looked smaller than the rest, and one looked particularly fat. She also recognised the scenery around them; it was the valley beyond the river, and she could see the river itself, but there was nothing else past it; none of the houses or buildings or even the paved embankment running along it.

Her breath left her in a rush. These were the people she had heard earlier in the day. They were _there_, beyond the river, in a place she couldn't see, and yet she could hear their voices when she was walking along the river as clear as if they were whispering in her ear.

Swallowing, she reached up and put her hand on the mirror. The Portal shivered and dissipated beneath her palm. Only her reflection remained, and through that she could see her wide, dark and confused eyes staring back at her.

She could also see the three men watching her with curious eyes. She considered explaining what she thought the Portal had been, but then decided against it.

"As I said…" She turned around to face them, wrapping her arms around herself. "It's really nothing interesting."

The men looked at her. She could tell they were trying to look at her in a way that would encourage her to reveal all, but it was hard to take them seriously when there were smudges of butter cream around Courfeyrac's mouth, chocolate on Prouvaire's forehead and specks of macaroon all over Bahorel's chest.

"If you all go and sit down now I will conjure a chocolate cake," she said. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen people move so fast, but before she could even process what had happened, they were seated at the table.

Sighing, she began to conjure her promised cake, pushing the image of that group of people to the back of her mind.

XXX

After the plates had been cleared away, the table wiped down of smears of butter cream and chocolate and rogue crumbs, and the three men had ambled off home, Éponine put Gavroche to bed.

"What was that Portal about?" Gavroche asked through a long, sleepy yawn, as she pulled the bed sheets up to his neck.

"It was nothing interesting," Éponine insisted, smoothing a hand over his hair. "Please, don't think about it too much. Just try and sleep: you've had a long day."

"I want a horse," Gavroche muttered.

Éponine smiled as his eyes closed slowly after a few more blinks, and she brushed a stray smudge of icing sugar from his cheekbone. "Good night, Gavroche," she said.

"G'night," Gavroche sighed, rolling over.

Éponine left his room, closing the door behind her. Then she leaned against it, her hands linking together behind her back.

She stared around the room. From behind her, through the wooden door, she heard Gavroche snore quietly. Pursing her lips, she made her decision and moved forwards, yanking her shawl from where she had left it draped across the back of the sofa and throwing it around her shoulders, knotting it over her chest.

It was time, she had decided, to go back to the river.


	33. river

**33**

"It's typical that I find you wandering around this late at night," a man called out as she began to walk away from her flat.

She rolled her eyes at the sound of Enjolras' familiarly smooth voice; she came to a halt and turned to face the blond man, who walked towards her with brisk, short steps.

"Is there a problem with it?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Enjolras said. "I hardly think it is safe, do you?"

"I think it's a lot safer than Paris," Éponine shrugged. "And I know that from personal experience."

"I also think I know where you're going," Enjolras said, finally reaching her. They began to walk together, side by side.

"Please, enlighten me." She pulled her shawl up higher around her neck until it brushed her earlobes.

"You're going to the river," he said. "Courfeyrac told us about the Portal you conjured tonight."

"It bothered me," Éponine admitted. "You're right, I'm going to the river. You don't _have_ to come with me."

The expression on Enjolras' face suggested he thought she was crazy, and a part of her wondered whether he might be right. "Of course I'm coming with you," he said. "I don't think Combeferre would ever speak to me again if I let you go off by yourself to deal with whatever it is."

"You really don't have to," she said.

"I know," he replied.

The silence that fell over them as they walked was comfortable and, for a while, Éponine didn't feel the need to speak to her companion. However, a sudden thought occurred to her and it was a question she had to ask.

"So, do you often lurk about outside my flat?" she asked, "Or was this just a coincidence?"

He frowned. "Combeferre and I knew you might try and go to the river tonight…"

"Am I really that obvious?" she murmured under her breath.

"I also had no desire to sleep, whilst Combeferre was feeling tired," Enjolras continued, "So I offered to go to your flat. It was actually my intention to knock on your door and impose on you for a few hours until morning came, and then Combeferre could occupy you by taking you to the library, but things don't always work out as planned."

"You were assuming I would let you into my flat," Éponine retorted.

"You would have," Enjolras said confidently as they slowly descended the steps to the riverbank.

"Don't be so certain." Éponine walked straight to the very edge of the riverbank, the toes of her boots poking over the edge. The water was pure pitch black in the darkness, and not even the lights reflected off it. It looked too still to be real, almost like glass.

She also couldn't hear the whispers at all; the riverbank was completely silent, save for the sound of hers and Enjolras' breathing.

"Can you hear anything?" she murmured out of the corner of her mouth.

Enjolras stepped forward to stand beside her, his brow furrowing. "No," he said, eventually. "I cannot hear anything at all apart from me and you."

"Maybe they're further up," she suggested, carefully walking along the edge of the riverbank. She didn't think they would be, though, because this was the place she'd heard them speaking earlier on.

"This is just an idea," Enjolras said, stepping back from the riverbank and clasping his hands behind his back.

"If you're going to suggest we go home, be quiet," Éponine threw over her shoulder.

"I wasn't, actually," Enjolras replied. "I was _going_ to say that, if you can hear them – and I could hear them, too, earlier in the day – it would make sense that they could hear us, too."

"What do you mean?" Éponine turned to face him.

"It's late," he said. "It's dark, and you can't hear them talking anymore. Maybe they have gone to sleep. But if they _can_ hear us, then you could wake them up."

Éponine tipped her head back and stared across the river, squinting. "How?"

"Try shouting," Enjolras suggested. "It usually works for me when Courfeyrac decides to shout through my bedroom door."

"What should I shout?" Éponine said, raising her voice as she asked the question.

"I don't know." Enjolras shrugged. "This is your venture, so it's entirely up to you."

She shot him a reproachful look and then ignored him, staring across the river. "_Hello_!" she shouted, at the top of her voice. "Can you hear me, people across the river?"

The seconds stretched out in complete silence. And then the whispering began.

"_Did you hear that_?"

"_Someone said hello _–"

"_It can't have been to us…who would say hello to us_?"

"_I don't know, Arnaud, maybe someone who wants to _help _us_?"

"_Then why are they just shouting hello? Why aren't they trying to get us through the barrier_?"

Éponine turned to look at Enjolras with excitement on her face. "They can hear me!" she exclaimed.

"_Of course we can hear you_!" a woman's voice shouted from beyond the river. "_We need to get through_!"

"I don't understand how to help," Éponine called back. Beside her, Enjolras made a small noise at the back of his throat.

"_You need to try and get us to your side_!" another woman's voice ordered.

"There's a river in the way," Éponine said. "I don't know…"

"_So swim_," an annoyed male voice snapped.

Enjolras shook his head. "Éponine, I think we should go and find a Guardian," he said. "We don't know what we're dealing with."

But Éponine was concentrating on the endless field beyond the river. With slow movements, she slid her shawl from around her shoulders and allowed it to pool on the floor. She began to unlace her boots.

"Éponine," Enjolras said, voice warning. "Don't –"

She let her first boot drop to the ground.

"Éponine, _put your shoes on_," Enjolras commanded. "This is silly."

She removed her other boot and allowed it to join the other one on the paving stones. "Be quiet," she said. "As you said, this is _my_ venture, not yours."

Then, before Enjolras could say anything else, Éponine climbed down so that she was sat on the edge of the river, her legs dangling. Her feet, clad in stockings, dipped into the water. The sensation felt cool, but unlike the feeling of being immersed in actual water.

Enjolras put his hand on her shoulder but she pushed off the edge, letting her body sink beneath the river's still surface. The feeling of the water pressing against her body was an unfamiliar but not unpleasant sensation. For a few moments, fear clung to her heart as she realised how deep the water was; her feet could not reach the bottom. She'd never been taught how to swim, so she relied completely on instinct, her legs moving like windmills beneath the water. Her arms splashed as she struggled not to go under.

"Éponine, you fool, you can't swim!" Enjolras' voice was irritated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shrugging out of his red jacket and beginning to pull off his boots.

Water flooded into her eyes and she coughed and spluttered. The water that entered her mouth tasted familiar – too familiar, in fact; it was just as sweet and as pleasant as Bliss.

Forcing herself to stop coughing, she pushed herself forward, forcing her body to move through the water. She found it a surprisingly easy thing to do; the water in this river didn't seem as dense as water in the living world.

She heard a splash behind her, and then Enjolras cried out. "I can't move," he said.

Éponine whirled around in the water. "What?"

Sure enough, the blond man was motionless, his shoulders and head sticking out from the water's surface. Something similar to panic was on his face.

"Try and move your arms," Éponine called, spitting water out of her mouth.

"I am telling you, I cannot move," he said. "I can't raise my arms or move my legs – I feel like I'm stuck in a block of clay –"

"Now who is the fool?" Éponine murmured under her breath. "Just – just wait a moment."

She lurched through the water in his direction. Finally, she reached him. Their bodies bumped into each other. She could feel his legs against hers through her skirts. She put her hand on his arm and began to pull him back towards the river's edge.

"Help me," she said. "Don't just be a lump –"

"I still can't move my arms," Enjolras hissed.

Éponine spat more water out of her mouth. She let go of him and stuck her hands beneath the water, wrapping her fingers around one of his wrists and pulling it from the water's grasp. "Try moving your fingers," she suggested, and watched as all of his finger's on that hand waggled.

She wound her arm around his waist and continued to haul him towards the riverbank. His body collided with the bank first, and he released a small grunt on impact. She pulled his arms back out of the water and he reached for the side, curling his fingers around the edge of the pavement and then pulling himself out of the water. She kept her arms and hands on his hips and helped to push him out.

Enjolras lay on the riverbank for a few moments, breathing heavily with his eyes closed, water forming a puddle around his body.

Éponine, meanwhile, continued to tread water. She could still hear the voices talking beyond the river, but she forced herself to ignore them and focused her attentions entirely upon Enjolras.

"Are you getting out?" he said, after composing himself. He sat up, placing one arm over his knee.

"No," she said, gesturing towards the other side of the river, splashing water. "I'm still going over there."

Enjolras' mouth set into a thin line. "Be careful," he said. "I can't help you if you get into trouble."

She nodded. "I'll try my best," she said. Then she spun in the water, and began to move back towards the other side of the river.


	34. newcomers

**34**

Éponine pulled herself through the water, feeling her limbs grow tired with every movement. Despite how loose the water felt around her, the fact she wasn't sure how to swim was putting a lot of strain on her body. She paused halfway there, risking a glance over her shoulder. Enjolras was kneeling on the very edge of the river, but in the dim light she couldn't make out his face properly.

She spat, trying to get the sweet taste of the water out of her mouth. Her head was spinning a little bit. She began to wonder whether she was swimming through water at all, or whether she was swimming through a river full of Bliss. She supposed that _anything_ was possible here.

She set off again. Her dress was heavy, she decided; it was making it harder to swim. Still, it would be improper of her to remover her dress, and she wasn't sure whether Enjolras would be able to cope with seeing her in her undergarments (the man still couldn't look her in the eye). Besides, it would be too much effort to swim back to take her dress off...

As that thought entered her head, she reached the other side. She paused at the edge of the river, unsure of what to do. Making sure that her mouth was above the surface of the water, she shouted out, "I'm in the river!"

A few seconds passed and she got a response, from a woman. Her voice was distorted, but it sounded very close by, like someone was whispering in her ear. "_Are you close by_?" the woman asked.

Éponine spat more water out of her mouth and then stuck her hands out of the water. She stretched forwards, reaching out for the shoreline. She wanted to feel grass beneath her hands, damp from the water she was dripping, but instead it felt like she was dipping her hand into warm water. She heard a shriek and she wasn't sure if it came from her own mouth or from beyond the river, but she was very aware of the fact that her hand had disappeared.

A heartbeat passed and suddenly, another hand wrapped around hers. She could feel that their palm was smooth but not necessarily soft; she recognised the touch as one belonging to someone whose hands had been worn shiny by years of hard work.

"Pull!" Éponine shouted as the woman who had spoken before shouted the same word.

Éponine realised that the hand that was holding her was beginning to put force on her. She felt her body moving backwards through the water but she desperately clung onto the hand that had taken hers. They held on to each other so hard that she was sure it would have hurt if they were alive and not dead.

All of a sudden, a figure appeared. The air seemed to shiver, ripple and shimmer around the figure until they splashed into the water, hitting Éponine. Éponine was plunged beneath the water.

She panicked, letting go of them. She swallowed, the water entering her lungs. She forced herself upwards, her head coming into the fresh air. She began to cough and splutter, the water making its way back up her throat and out of her mouth.

A woman was nearby, her body stiff and still in the water. On the pavement, Enjolras was on his feet, his hands clenched into fists.

"I can't move," the woman said, her voice panicky.

Éponine blinked water out of her eyes. It was too dark to make out the woman's features properly, but when she reached out to take hold of the woman, she felt soft flesh beneath her hands. "Don't panic," she said, in the most soothing voice she could manage. "Come on…"

Like she had done with Enjolras, she began to tow the woman through the water until they reached the other side. Enjolras helped her heft the woman onto the side.

"Please, my children are still over there," the woman said. It was lighter on the edge of the river and the woman's features were clearer. She had a doughy face, dark eyes, and hair the colour of dirty silver. There was something tired about her face, in its lines and around her eyes.

"How many?" Éponine asked, her legs turning beneath the water.

"Five," the woman said.

Éponine sighed, and began to swim back across the river.

By the time Éponine had successfully pulled five more people through the barrier, she was exhausted. Her entire body felt weak. She couldn't remember feeling like this since she had died; it was not as bad as she had felt when she _was_ alive, but it had been a long time since she felt tired and it was a complete and utter shock to her system.

It was Enjolras who helped her out of the water, his hands warm and strong around her thin arms. "Are you all right?" he asked, and she realised with a jolt in her stomach that he was _looking her in the eye_. She swallowed, not sure what to do now he was finally doing what she'd wanted him to for days.

His eyes searched her face, and eventually, she nodded. "Yes, I'm fine," she said, before pulling away from his grip to look at the six people she had managed to retrieve from beyond the wall.

Aside from the elderly woman she had helped through first, the rest were all young. The smallest was a girl, with curling fair hair and small eyes, barefooted and wearing a blue dress. She was tiny, with thin legs and skinny wrists and not even reaching Éponine's shoulder; there were bruises around her skeletal arms. Then there was a boy, a little taller than the girl, and possibly slightly older; his hair was darker than the girl's, but his eyes were the same and he was just as scrawny.

The next two were boys as well, one possibly about the same age as Éponine by the looks of him and the other somewhat younger. Whilst they were thin, there was something stockier about their frames, and they were tall. The younger was definitely lankier, like he had yet to grow into his height. The older had a clean knife slash across his throat.

The final person was a woman. She looked young and old at the same time; Éponine would have guessed she was probably older than Enjolras. She would once have been pretty, Éponine imagined, but there was something tired about her face, and when she smiled, her front tooth was missing. Her hair was as black as a raven's wing, coming loose from a knot on top of her head. She reminded her of Éléonore, in the sense that she wore a great deal of jewellery, numerous glittering necklaces around her thin throat and even more diamonds on her fingers. There was something haughty on the woman's face that looked familiar to Éponine.

The oldest of the boys shuffled his feet. "What do we do now, then?" he demanded.

"Oh, hush, Arnaud," the black-haired woman scolded.

Enjolras cleared his throat. "I do not know the correct procedure for events such as this," he began, "But I would suggest we go to the Guardian's building."

"This _is_ it, then?" the youngest girl asked, wandering a few feet away and staring around. "This is Paris?"

"Yes," the elderly woman said. "It looks a bit different to when I was here last – these houses weren't by the river – but it definitely looks like it."

"And this is where you want to be?" Éponine asked, feeling a little breathless.

"Oh, yes," the elderly woman said, managing a smile. "I've waited so long to get back here, we all have."

Enjolras cleared his throat once more. "So the Guardian's building?" he prompted.

"I think that would be for the best," the elderly woman agreed. "We plan on staying here for a while and we'll need somewhere to stay for the time being. I don't think I can remember my way anymore…"

"That won't be an issue," Enjolras muttered, turning on his heel. "Between us Éponine and I have spent half our time here with the Guardians."


	35. bickering

**35**

They had been walking for about five minutes when it occurred to Éponine that this group of strangers from beyond the wall were highly irritating. They were loud, bickered constantly, and were causing Enjolras' jaw to clench repeatedly as they walked along. The young man that was named Arnaud – the oldest of the boys, with the slash across his throat – was particularly annoying, being constantly sarcastic and snarky in response to anything his companions had to say.

"Do you think we would be forgiven for leaving them here?" Éponine muttered to Enjolras out of the corner of her mouth. The blond man glanced over his shoulder at the six people trailing behind them; the youngest girl was currently arguing with the black-haired woman about her lack of footwear, and Éponine wasn't entirely sure how that conversation had come about.

"I can't see Éléonore blaming us in the slightest," Enjolras responded, "Although I suspect Arnaud would have something to say about it."

"I could always drag him back to the river and push him in," Éponine suggested. "Then he'd be truly stuck."

"What are you two whispering about?" the man in question demanded, striding forwards to walk alongside Éponine.

"Oh, nothing, just…Guardian business," Éponine said, lamely.

"It must have been about us because you're lying," Arnaud said. "What were you saying? Is there something wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong," Enjolras said sharply, "And don't be so rude to Éponine."

"Why? What are you going to do about it?" Arnaud challenged. Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

"_I_ will do nothing," he said. "Éponine, on the other hand, will drag you back to the river, push you in, and leave you there, if you continue to be impolite. She may look small and innocent but she's one of the scariest people I've ever met."

Éponine looked up at Enjolras, almost feeling flattered by his opinion of her, even if she wasn't sure where it had come from.

Arnaud floundered for a few moments, unsure of what to say, so she spoke for him. "Enjolras is right," she said. "You'd be back in the river before you even knew what was happening."

Arnaud blustered. "You wouldn't," he said.

"I would," Éponine said. "As I said before, we were talking about Guardian business and it's nothing to do with you, so please, don't start pestering us for answers."

Arnaud slowed down so he was walking with his companions rather than Éponine and Enjolras. There were a few minutes of silence amongst the newcomers in the wake of Éponine's threat, before the youngest girl took offence to a face that Arnaud had pulled and decided to yell at him about it.

Éponine had never been more grateful to arrive at the Guardian's building. Enjolras held the door open for everyone to file in, and Éponine hurried off to find a Guardian. There were none on duty that she recognised or had dealt with before, and she was informed quite quickly that Éléonore wasn't working that evening. The Guardian that decided to take charge was an elderly gentleman with fine white hair wearing a bottle-green coat with brass buttons. He trembled with sheer excitement upon hearing what had happened at the river, explained to him in a hurry by Éponine as they walked back to the lobby.

"That _is_ fascinating, we've not had an arrival like this in _years_, it's usually people _leaving_ and so many of them too!" he was chattering as they entered the lobby. They found Enjolras sat on one of the benches with his head in his hands, trying his best to ignore a loud row between Arnaud and the elderly lady.

"Sorry, they keep on arguing," Éponine apologised to the gentleman. "We're, uh, not sure why."

"If you just admit what you've done then we won't all have to take responsibility for what you did because I'm not planning on taking responsibility for what you have done," the elderly woman hissed, dark eyes spitting.

"What I did was nothing to do with anything that any of you have done so what does it matter what I did?" Arnaud snapped back.

"Before you ask, I have no idea what he has done or what they have done or what they're talking about," Enjolras called from across the room.

The man's joyful expression had faltered somewhat at the sight of the newcomers, which made Éponine feel quite bad, considering how excited he had been. To be fair, it wasn't just the argument between Arnaud and the elderly woman that was probably the issue; the youngest girl was trying to scale the wall, and the younger boy was trying to do a handstand.

"I'm sorry," Éponine said. Enjolras got to his feet, heaving a sigh and walking around the gaggle of people to stand with Éponine.

"I rather fear I'm going to need more help," the man said. "So they argue like this a lot?"

"They haven't really stopped since they got out of the river," Enjolras said.

The man pursed his lips. "I won't be a moment."

He left them again, walking with the speed of someone who genuinely looked like he was trying to flee. Éponine didn't blame him for that, and hoped he would actually return.

"Do you think it's safe for us to leave now?" Éponine muttered to Enjolras as the shouting escalated in volume as the black-haired woman joined in.

"We should at least wait to make sure that someone comes _back_," Enjolras said.

"Good point. I probably wouldn't if I was that man," Éponine admitted. "They're rather…"

"Annoying?" Enjolras supplied.

"I was going to say argumentative, but I suppose it basically comes back to the same thing," Éponine shrugged.

A couple of minutes later, the gentleman returned, accompanied by a blonde woman in a blue dress, an elderly woman wearing trousers, and a boy who looked no older than ten. This group of Guardians cut through the argument and ushered the newcomers into another corridor, leaving Éponine and Enjolras alone.

"Can we go now?" Éponine said.

"I think we should," Enjolras agreed.

They turned towards the doors when Inès emerged from one of the other corridors, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. She paused for the smallest of moments when she saw them. "I thought I heard shouting," she said.

"It wasn't either of us," Éponine assured her. "I – uh – brought a lot of people from the other side of the river."

"How does that even work?" Inès said, frowning. She tied her shawl in a small knot over her chest.

"I have no idea," Éponine admitted. "But I did. They bicker a lot."

Inès rolled her eyes. "Then I am glad it is time for me to go home," she said. "I couldn't be doing with dealing with a large influx of arrivals all at once."

"Would you like us to accompany you home?" Éponine asked as they walked out onto the streets with Inès.

"I'll be fine," Inès said, giving them a small and not entirely sincere smile. "Thank you, though."

She walked off in the opposite direction, head bowed low.

"She was quite pleasant for once," Enjolras remarked.

"Probably because of your wonderful presence," Éponine said.

He snorted. "I highly doubt that."

They ambled along in silence. Éponine realised that they were still dripping water everywhere as they walked, even though the water on her face and hands had mostly dried. Enjolras' leather boots obviously dry but the colour of his shirt and waistcoat visibly was darker from his waist downwards.

"I don't think I'll be going in the river again," she remarked, running a hand through her hair.

"I'm glad to hear it," Enjolras said, shooting her a sideways glance. On closer inspection, the sleeves of his jacket were wet from the elbows downwards, and there were damp stains on the other half of his body from where he had been grabbed by other people.

"We must look a sight," Éponine murmured.

"I mean it," Enjolras said, as if she hadn't spoken. She raised her eyebrows.

"Mean what?" she said.

"I'm glad you don't plan on going in the river again," he said. "It was a foolish thing to do. What if you had been unable to move like the rest of us? You would have been stuck."

"Not forever," Éponine objected. "You would have got me out."

"You shouldn't have gone in," he said, shaking his head.

"I helped people."

"Highly _annoying_ people who largely didn't seem grateful," Enjolras said.

"You just don't like Arnaud," Éponine said. "Which is fair enough, I didn't either."

"I just don't see why you're so keen on putting yourself in these _situations_," Enjolras shot back. "Just because we cannot be hurt properly doesn't mean we – _you_ – should be completely careless with your well-being."

"In future, I won't try and do something helpful," Éponine said.

"It's not about you being helpful," Enjolras said, exasperated. "I just – it could have gone so wrong."

"But it didn't."

"That's besides the point."

"It's not really," Éponine said.

He narrowed his eyes. "Wait until I tell Combeferre what you did," he murmured. "I'm sure _he'll_ have something to say about it."

"I'm sure he will," Éponine said. "It doesn't mean I'll take what he has to say seriously. I'm not a child, Enjolras."

"I never said that you were," Enjolras sighed. "I just think that you can be reckless sometimes."

They walked the rest of the way to Éponine's flat in silence, each of them mulling over the events that had taken place earlier on as well as the conversation that had come afterwards.


	36. warning

**36**

The next morning, Éponine was woken by someone knocking loudly on the front door. She stumbled out of her room and across front room to throw it open, feeling thoroughly grumpy and irritated.

Éléonore stood in the doorway, looking a little uncertain. She wore red today, the deep colour clashing somewhat with her dark orange hair. The rings on her fingers were encrusted with white jewels; there was a bluish diamond set into the fabric that climbed her throat. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asked, stepping into the flat before Éponine could say anything.

"Yes," Éponine said, honestly. "What is it?"

"It's not that early," Éléonore said.

"I was still asleep," Éponine said through a yawn, shutting the door behind Éléonore. "What is it?" she repeated.

"I have come about two things," Éléonore said, clasping her hands together. "The first is the expert I have written to about you has replied. She is travelling here as soon as possible."

Éponine nodded, not really sure how she should feel about that. She cleared her throat. "How long do you think it will be before she gets here?"

"A couple of days, maybe," Éléonore said. She shrugged. "I really can't be sure."

"And the second thing?" Éponine prompted, planting her hands on her hips and fighting back another yawn.

"One of the women you…rescued last night would like to see you," Éléonore said. She bit her lip. "The elderly one. I _think_ she wants to thank you."

"You don't sound too fond of the idea," Éponine observed.

"That's because I'm not," Éléonore said. "What happened last night was unusual, Éponine, as are your abilities. The woman has been in this place for many years, I can tell, and she has moved between different areas; she has been all over the place, seen how the different places work, and she has met many people. I don't know what she wants, but she is after something from you. I just want you to be careful."

"After something from me?" Éponine echoed.

"Yes." Éléonore hesitated, but then said, "The things you can do are rare, but they are things that a lot of people here long to be able to do. We try and make sure you're not hounded for it. I'm sure that this woman has good intentions, I just – I have heard her talking, and I am not so sure what she wants you to do is safe for _you_, Éponine, so I am just warning you to be on your guard."

"I'll..." Éponine thought about what Éléonore had said, and wasn't sure what she should say to it. So she nodded. "I'll bear that in mind," she finally said.

"I'll leave you to change," Éléonore said. "I'm taking what you just said to mean you don't mind seeing her, by the way."

"Eh, she's made me feel curious," Éponine admitted.

Éléonore pursed her lips. "Just remember what I said," she said. "I'll see you later. Just come and find me when you would like to see her."

Éléonore saw herself out, and Éponine returned to her room to change out of her simple white nightdress into the reddish brown dress that she had been given on her arrival at the Guardian's building. It occurred to her as she fiddled with its buttons that she hadn't materialised herself a new dress since being given this one. She'd managed to create herself a vast collection of different shawls, a few inspired by Prouvaire's rather colourful choices in cravats, but this one dress had remained the same.

Biting her lip, she considered conjuring herself something new – maybe something fancier, like Éléonore's, and some jewellery to go with it – it had been so long since she'd worn jewellery and nice clothes, she'd been a child – but then she remembered she was supposed to be meeting the woman. Sighing to herself, she decided she would investigate having new clothes when she had more time, and threw a yellowy-brown shawl around her shoulders before leaving her room.

Gavroche was lounging on the sofas, still clad in a nightshirt, holding Hyacinthe at arm's length above his head.

"Éléonore woke me up," he said.

"She woke me up too," Éponine said, pausing to scratch Hyacinthe's ears and ruffle Gavroche's hair. "I'm going out."

"All right," Gavroche said. "Courf said he would take me horse riding again today."

"Have fun," she said, dashing out of the flat.

Inès was hovering in the lobby of the Guardian's building when Éponine got there, looking bored and carrying a plain wooden box underneath her arm.

"You again," she said. "Are you after a job as a Guardian, or something?"

Éponine shook her head. "I'm here to see Éléonore," she said. "One of the people from beyond the river asked to see me."

"Oh, them." Inès' eyes narrowed. "I haven't met them, but you can hear their arguing from all over the place. The sooner they make them an apartment, the better."

"Yes, they weren't very quiet last night either," Éponine said.

"C'mon, I'll take you to Éléonore." Inès adjusted her grip on the box under her arm. "I think she was in her office the last time I saw her."

"What's in the box?" Éponine asked as they walked down a corridor to Éléonore's office.

"No idea," Inès said. "One of the Guardians – one of the Jeans, we have a lot of Jeans here – gave it to me and asked me to take it to another Jean, and I got very confused because he didn't specify _which_ Jean. I really dislike Guardians, sometimes."

Éponine smiled. It was nice to see Inès being chattier than she had been; once they had broken through their mutual dislike of each other that night they were drinking Bliss she found Inès to be somewhat pleasant.

"How do you usually differentiate between Jeans?" Éponine asked out of curiosity.

"There's Tall Jean, and Small Jean, and Fat Jean, and Jean of the Pink Waistcoats, and Jean with the Cats. Oh, and there's Onion Jean – and we can never forget Little Jean, who is only five, in his body at least. Then there's John, who is actually English but gets confused with the rest. There's a few more but they're not proper Guardians or very interesting so I forget about them," Inès said, all in a rush.

"Are they nicknames everyone uses, or just you?" Éponine said, raising her eyebrows in amusement.

"Mostly everyone uses them, but Jean of the Pink Waistcoats is usually known as just Jean because he was the first Jean. But he has a stupid amount of pink waistcoats, you see."

"I did think it _might_ be something like that," Éponine said, as they stopped outside a door. Inès didn't knock, she just walked inside.

That's when she shrieked and dropped the box in her hands. It hit the floor with a dull thud. Éponine peered around her, worried at what she might see, but it was just Éléonore, playing with one of the rings on her fingers whilst being sat opposite the elderly lady.

"Inès?" Éléonore said. "What's wrong?"

Inès had clapped a hand over her mouth, and she was backing away from the room. She hit Éponine, who moved out of the smaller girl's way.

"Inès?" the elderly woman whispered, slowly rising out of her chair.

Inès shook her head.

"Inès, what is it?" Éponine said, stepping towards her. She reached out to place a hand on Inès' shoulder, but Inès flung out her hands to stop the movement.

"That's…that's my mother," she said, in a strangled voice, and as the elderly woman took a step in her direction, Inès turned on her heel and fled down the corridor.


	37. family

**37**

"Éponine," Éléonore said, her voice calm and smooth, "Why don't you go and speak to her and see if she's all right? Bring her in here when she's ready."

Éponine nodded, and after a brief moment of hesitation as she exchanged speculative stares with Inès' mother, she followed Inès down the corridor. The smaller girl had run out of view, but she could hear her footsteps thudding loudly somewhere in the distance. She followed the sound of them, but then she was in the lobby and she couldn't hear them anymore so she assumed that Inès had gone outside.

She opened the door and stepped out onto the street. Inès hadn't gone far. She was huddled next to the door, her back against the wall and her face pressed into her knees. Her arms were looped around her legs, and her shoulders were shaking.

Éponine hovered next to her, then cleared her throat and stepped so that she was stood in front of Inès. She crouched in front of her. "Inès?"

"Go away," the girl snapped, her voice thick and muffled.

"Éléonore sent me," Éponine said.

"I don't _care_ who sent you, I just want you to leave!" Inès shouted, raising her head. Her face was bright and shiny wet with tears.

"That's not going to happen," Éponine muttered, internally reflecting on what ugly faces Inès pulled when she was crying. "Éléonore says you're to come back to the office when you feel ready."

"I don't want to see her," Inès said immediately.

"Your mother?" Éponine guessed, and this prompted an odd, strangled wail from Inès.

"_Yes_," she gasped. "I don't want to see her!"

"Do you mind if I ask why?" Éponine braced her hands behind her back so that she could sit, cross-legged, on the ground.

"She obviously doesn't care about me," Inès spat. "Any of us. I have so many brothers and sisters and – and we all went our separate ways and _she_ never cared enough to make sure we all stayed together! Look where it got me!" She flung her hands up in the air. "Dead at thirteen. I hate her!"

"They're all here, now, though," Éponine said. "I'm not _actually_ sure that they're your siblings, but it'd be a good guess, don't you think?"

Inès shook her head and dragged a hand over her nose and mouth, producing a wet sound that turned Éponine's stomach. She wrinkled her nose.

"I don't want to see _any_ of them," Inès declared, but it sounded weak.

"I understand the fact that you don't – you know, you don't necessarily_ want_ to see them, but if I were you, I would want some answers," Éponine said, patting Inès on the knee.

"Answers? About what?" Inès sniffled.

"What they're doing here, for a start," Éponine said. "How they found each other, maybe? And then…then you can do what you want. To be honest, I've only been asked to bring you back to Éléonore's office, so what you do after we've spoken to your mother is entirely up to you."

Inès sniffed again, and the resulting sound had Éponine closing her eyes and looking in the other direction. Some people, she decided, should just _not_ be allowed to cry in public, especially in Éponine's presence. She decided she would avoid a crying Inès in future as it was not an attractive spectacle.

"I've been on my own for so long," Inès murmured.

Éponine looked at her. "You haven't," she said. "That woman you live with..."

Something like a smile broke out on Inès' face, but it faltered very quickly. "It's not the same thing," she muttered.

"You're under no obligation to have anything to do with them if you choose not to," Éponine sighed. "If that's what you're worried about – being pressured into seeing them all the time. Just because they're your family doesn't mean you have to see them. You've made your own family here, in your own little way, and they have no right to come in and disturb it."

She allowed herself to wonder what would happen if her parents died and turned up here, trying to see her. She didn't think she'd want anything to do with them – she had Gavroche, and Combeferre, and even Enjolras, and then there was all of the other students who treated her like a friend. She was happier here with them than she'd ever been with her parents, and what's more – she knew, _knew_, that if they died and turned up in this second, she would walk away from them.

Inès let out a small, shaky breath and flexed her hands. "I only have to talk to her once," she said. "Get answers."

"Yes, that's the way I see it," Éponine said, getting to her feet. Her shawl slipped away from her shoulders as she moved and she reached down to halt its descent to the pavement.

After a few more moments, Inès also stood up, but she took her time about it, dragging her feet and clinging to the wall behind her. The more Éponine observed of Inès the more similarities she was starting to see between her and her loud, bickering siblings; she wondered if a penchant for dramatics ran in the family as well.

Once Inès was steady on her feet, she turned to stare at the doors with some trepidation. Éponine pulled a face and walked around her, hefting the door open and slipping back inside the building.

Inès continued to drag her feet the entire walk to Éléonore's office. A part of Éponine wanted to turn around and command the other girl to speed up, but she had half a suspicion that would just tip Inès over the edge again and result in her curling up in the middle of the corridor.

Instead, she stormed ahead with long strides, occasionally glancing over her shoulder and slowing a little so that Inès could catch up. They got to Éléonore's office and she knocked on the door this time and waited for a response before opening the door.

Éléonore was crouched in front of the armchair that the elderly lady was sat on, and the elderly lady was crying, a handkerchief balled in her fist. Éléonore looked in Éponine's direction as she entered, but her eyes were really looking past her. Éponine guessed she was looking at Inès, and glanced down to see that Inès was peering around her, apprehension written clear all over her flushed face.

"Come in, sit down," Éléonore urged, standing up with a rustle of fabric. She linked her long white hands together and walked back around her desk. "Éponine, if you could shut the door behind you, please."

Two more armchairs were positioned in front of the desk, but facing each other. Inès sank into the one nearest to Éléonore's desk, perched right on the edge; Éponine sat in the other free one, leaning back into the cushions.

For a few moments, a heavy, awkward silence hung over the room. Éléonore cleared her throat. "This is – this is a very unusual situation," she said. "I've never actually _had_ anything like this occur before, and if I'm being completely honest, I'm not entirely certain how to proceed…"

"Maybe," Éponine spoke up quietly, "It would be best if we let them talk to each other."

Inès whipped her head around, alarmed. "I'm not being left alone with her!"

The elderly lady's eyes widened and she let out a small, indignant noise. "Inès, I am your_ mother_," she said.

"I've not seen you since I was ten," Inès said. "And I died when I was thirteen, so I hadn't seen you for three whole years before I died. You didn't care what happened to me in that space of time –"

"Don't you dare," the elderly lady said in a vicious voice. "You don't know what it was like for me, watching all of my children bar one slowly disappear –"

"And how do you think we all felt?" Inès snapped back, voice just as caustic. "We were _children_."

"I have done _everything_ to reunite us since I died," the elderly lady said. "I have wandered from place to place, through all the different barriers, hunting down my children. I have been so fortunate to find all of them, but my family is not complete –"

"What, and you need me to complete it?" Inès snorted.

"You, and another brother – and others," the elderly lady said. "Please, Inès. I wish I had found you earlier – you must have been here longer than I anyway, I just didn't realise…"

"How did you _not realise_ when you managed to find the rest of them?" Inès said. "You must have had a way of finding them."

"I did, Inès, but you were not so easy to find," the elderly lady said. "Every time I tried to draw a Portal to see where you were...You were so hard to see but – I suppose that makes sense, you were always the most independent child of mine. I used to despair," she continued, dabbing the handkerchief on her eyes. "Every time you used to go wandering off…No one could get through to you, only your uncle…It seems fitting that you remained difficult to find…"

"I've never forgiven you," Inès said. "You weren't a good mother."

"I'm trying to _be_ a good mother," the elderly lady said. "I know I could have done more, to keep us all together, but…"

Inès shook her head. "It's more than _could_ have," she said, quietly. "You _should_ have, because _that's what mother's do_. The woman I live with now – she would have done anything for her child – and she'd do anything for me and I'm not even her daughter! All _you_ cared about was little _Pierre_, little perfect _Pierre_!"

The lady's eyes flashed in warning. "Inès," she said, "Do not talk about your brother like that."

"Oh, you made sure that _Pierre_ stayed with you," Inès snarled, rolling her eyes.

"He was a child," the elderly lady said.

"We were _all_ children!" Inès shouted, as the door creaked open.

"Good old Inès," Arnaud snorted, popping his head around the door. "Always liked to throw temper tantrums –"

"Arnaud, now is _not_ the time!" the elderly lady snapped.

"I think that tensions may be running a little _too_ high," Éléonore cut in.

"If this is a family meeting, why is _she_ here?" Arnaud jabbed a finger in Éponine's direction.

Éponine threw her hands up. "I was told to come here!"

"I don't _have_ to talk to any of you," Inès said, getting to her feet. "You're – you're not my family anymore, not any of you. Éléonore –"

"You may take the rest of the day off," Éléonore said smoothly. "I'll come round later to see you."

Inès gave Éléonore a little nod and then turned towards Éponine. She mouthed a 'thank you' and then shoved past her brother and disappeared.

"She hates me," the elderly lady said in a watery voice.

"We all hated you," Arnaud said unhelpfully, still hovering in the doorway.

The elderly lady's face went very white. "I tried," she said. "I tried my best to make sure that you were all looked after and my best wasn't good enough, but I am _trying_ so hard now to reunite us _all_ so we can be a proper family again."

"Yes, _I_ know that," Arnaud said, some semblance of patience in his voice, "But Inès was always prickly."

"She's had a tough life," Éponine spoke up.

"We've all had tough lives," Arnaud said, with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway, I came to say that Gabrielle and Daniel had a fight and Gabrielle made him cry."

The elderly lady closed her eyes. "You all act like children."

"We're dead for eternity," Arnaud said. "Why _not_ act like children?" Then he wandered off down the corridor, leaving the door stood open.

Éponine cleared her throat. "Maybe I should just –"

"No, please, stay," the elderly lady said. "I – I just wanted to thank you. I know Inès hates me, but you have managed to reunite me with her. It was so difficult to find her, you see, and I never imagined it would happen this fast."

"It's nothing," Éponine said. "Honestly, I'm not even sure how I managed it."

"I have met lots of people like you," the elderly lady said. "Who can do what you do..."

"Éponine is still not fully clear on that," Éléonore cut in. "She is seeing an expert soon, and I think she should wait for that first before discussing it with you."

It was a clear warning, and the elderly lady looked a little surprised by Éléonore's somewhat sharp tone. Éléonore wasn't watching the lady, though, she was watching Éponine, and after a few minutes she said, "Éponine, I think maybe you should leave now. There are some things that myself and Jeanne need to discuss."

And that was a clear dismissal. Éponine was glad to flee the room and its awkward, heavy tension, and her feet could not move fast enough.


	38. tantalising

**38**

Upon leaving the Guardian's building, she walked in the direction of Combeferre and Enjolras' flat instead of going back to her own apartment.

She wanted to talk to someone, someone who made sense, and someone who wasn't going to start crying like Inès or talking in riddles like Éléonore. Combeferre would make sense, she knew, and would help her make sense of it in her own head. And Enjolras, if he was there…He'd just be Enjolras, ultimately, and she was still learning what that entailed.

The door was answered a couple of moments after she knocked, and it was answered not by Combeferre or Enjolras, but by Courfeyrac.

"I thought you were going out with Gavroche today," she said, instead of hello.

He stood aside to let her in. "I am," he said, "But it's still early. And keep your voice down – Enjolras is still in bed and he's very bad-tempered when he's woken up by loud noises."

Combeferre was sat on the sofas reading a Clémence Lefebvre book and plucking small macaroons off a plate sat on the sofa next to him. He lowered the book as she walked in and smiled at her. "Éponine," he said. "Good morning."

"Morning," she said, removing her shawl from her shoulders and looping it around her hands.

"Would you like a macaroon?" Combeferre gestured to the plate. "I hear you had quite the eventful evening last night."

"I did," she said, taking one macaroon and popping it, whole, into her mouth.

"It certainly sounded like an adventure," Courfeyrac chimed in, jumping onto the sofa with an enthusiasm Éponine usually associated with Hyacinthe. "I wish I had been there to see it."

"So do I, actually," Combeferre said, closing the book and resting it on the arm of the sofa. Éponine moved the plate of macaroons out of the way and took their place, putting them down on the small table in between the sofas. "It sounds fascinating," he continued. "But Enjolras was not in the best of moods when he came home. He was not too impressed with your heroics."

"Oh, I know," she said, dismissively. "He told me as much."

"It did have the potential to be dangerous," Combeferre said.

"Yes, but it also had the potential to _not_ be dangerous, which was the correct option," Éponine said with a small shrug.

"You're so _interesting_, Éponine," Courfeyrac said wistfully, rolling around on the sofa opposite. "They've filled me in on all of this business with that horrible man and it's really quite fascinating."

"Maybe it is for an outsider looking in," Éponine allowed. "But for me, it's just really rather odd."

"Oddness is usually fascinating," Courfeyrac said, nodding fast. "Especially in this case. Say, do you think you killed that man, or do you think he's coming back?"

"I hope I killed him," Éponine said honestly.

"I'm not usually one to wish anyone dead, but if I were, he would be on the list," Combeferre said. "I hate to think what might have happened if..."

"I would have handled it," Éponine said.

Combeferre tilted his head to one side and just looked at her for a few minutes before speaking. "I'm sure you would have," he said.

Courfeyrac plucked one of the macaroons from the plate and experimentally licked the edge of it before staring at it. After a few moments, he popped it into his mouth and chewed. "I've only ever seen one Portal," he said thoughtfully, "And it was that one last night, in the mirror. Do you see them often, Éponine?"

"Not really," Éponine replied. "I can count the ones I've seen on one hand."

"They look interesting," Courfeyrac sighed.

"Éléonore says they're dangerous," Combeferre commented, "That people can become addicted to them and the sights that they offer."

"The ones I have seen have either been nothing to do with me, therefore not very tempting, or something I don't want to look at for very long," Éponine said.

"Apart from last night's," Courfeyrac said. "That was apparently _very_ tempting considering you went straight to the river."

"I had to know what was going on," Éponine said. "I was just…curious. I still don't completely understand what's going on, though."

Courfeyrac wound his fingers through his hair. "I must admit," he began, "I am a little jealous."

"Of what, exactly?" Éponine raised her eyebrows. "You're jealous of the fact I'm a freak?"

"You're not a freak," Courfeyrac said, looking surprised at her words and the harshness behind them. "I didn't mean to offend you, Éponine. I genuinely find it fascinating. I just wish my time here was shaping up to be this interesting."

"It's not interesting," Éponine said. "Mostly it's been a bit horrible and hard to get used to, and I just want it to stop."

Silence followed her words, but then a door creaked open and Enjolras emerged from his room. His hair was messy from sleep, the fair curls sticking up in every direction, and he wore a shirt and trousers, with no jacket or waistcoat or, as she could see as he walked closer, shoes. It was easily the most relaxed that Éponine had ever seen Enjolras, and the sight quickly put her at ease.

"Good morning," he said, as a greeting. His eyebrows were quirked in askance. "What brings you here so early, Éponine?"

"I had to speak to the elderly woman last night – I think her name might be Jeanne – but it turns out that she's Inès' mother, and Inès seems to hate all of them, so Éléonore told me to come home," Éponine said.

"Inès' mother?" Enjolras slowly sat down next to Courfeyrac. "I didn't expect _that_. There's not much family resemblance, is there?"

"Not physically, but now I know they're related the constant arguing amongst her siblings makes more sense," Éponine said.

"So where exactly were they from?" Combeferre asked.

"I'm not sure." Éponine bit her lip. "Other places, I think. The mother – Jeanne – she came _back_ here, but the rest of them seem to have been residing elsewhere, apart from Inès."

"So there are other communities?" Combeferre ran his thumb down the spine of the book on his lap. "That – that's very interesting. And people can travel through them?"

"I assume so," Éponine said. "But I don't know how, as they didn't seem able to come over the river by themselves without my help. So…"

"It would seem that you can travel through the barriers," Courfeyrac said, his eyes twinkling. "Now isn't _that_ a tantalising prospect?"

**A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to discuss the É/E aspect of this story. It ****is**** going to remain an É/E story, because that's what it was always planned to be, but it's not going to happen ****_properly_**** for quite a while. There will be lots of interaction, but it will not necessarily be truly 'romantic' for a while. I know that might be frustrating, but it's the only way I can see their relationship working. There will also be other aspects of their relationship that will be slightly different that will be revealed in due course. I'm only saying this to just let people know that their relationship will be ****slow**** and a lot will have to happen before it turns properly 'romantic'.**

**Also, thanks to everyone who has been reviewing/alerting/favouriting this story, I really appreciate it :)**


	39. living

**39**

A few nights later, Éponine sat by herself in her apartment. Gavroche was having supper with Jehan and Joly; she had been invited, but had turned them down, having just taken out a new novel from the library that she wanted to finish. It was a well-written novel, and so far, it had proved to be an interesting storyline too, with lots of twists and turns.

Éponine wasn't sure how long she had been sat there reading, but before she knew it she had almost finished the novel, there only being a sliver of pages left to read. She put the book down for a moment, yawned and stretched her arms over her head. A quick glance outside showed her an inky black, starless sky, and she wondered how long it would be before Gavroche came back home.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. She got up immediately, assuming that Gavroche must have forgotten his key when he left earlier on; it had happened before, so it wasn't much of a surprise.

However, it was not Gavroche that stood in the doorway when she answered the door. It was a woman – specifically, it was the woman who lived with Inès. Her shawl was no longer covering her head, but was draped over her shoulders. It revealed uneven tufts of short fair hair, but her face was the same.

"Has something happened with Inès?" Éponine said immediately.

The woman shook her head and stepped into the flat without asking for permission. Éponine frowned at her, pushing the door shut.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but there's something I need you to do for me," the woman said.

"What?" Éponine knew that her face must be a picture of confusion because the woman managed an amused sort of smile in response.

"I saw what you did with that man," the woman said. "You made him disappear. I've seen it happen before – I've been here a long time – _you_ can send people to the living world."

Éponine gaped at her. "I've never done that," she said.

"You did it the other day," the woman said. "That man that started a fight with you and your friend –"

"Douvillier?" Éponine bit her lip. "You – you're saying I sent him to the _living world_?"

"Yes, but there's no time for this," the woman said, a tad impatient. "There is somewhere I need to go, in the living world; there is a man who is dying, but he cannot die alone. I need to be with him when he dies."

"And this is my problem because…?" Éponine folded her arms over her chest.

"You can send me to the living world," the woman said.

"I don't know how," Éponine said, immediately. "I – I've never done it. When I sent – Douvillier – wherever it was I sent her – it was a complete accident, I don't know –"

"It's rather simple," Inès said. "I've seen it done and I went once, a long time ago. I know what to do. Come."

She strode over to the looking glass on the wall and swiped her hand over it. The glass rippled and changed, taking on the consistency of water for a few moments, and then there was an image within the mirror, but it was not the reflection. Éponine followed her, curious to see  
what was happening.

Staring into the mirror, she saw the image of a tired-looking, elderly man, sat in a chair, in an unfamiliar building that looked rather grand to Éponine. The man looked very familiar to her – it was a face she was sure she had seen at least a handful of times, and yet, she could not place it. She had seen it when she was alive, she thought, but…The sight of him in a Portal was familiar, too.

"Touch it," the woman commanded.

"Sorry?" Éponine tore her eyes away from the man to look at the woman by her side.

"Touch it," the woman repeated. "Put your hand on it, and push."

Éponine's hand raised and she placed it, palm first, onto the mirror's surface. It felt solid at first, cool, but when she pushed it was like breaking through the barrier next to the river all over again. To her amazement, her hand vanished.

The woman tangled her fingers with Éponine's free hand, and suddenly shoved at Éponine. She stumbled forward, her head colliding with the mirror. She heard a shout somewhere behind them – it sounded like Gavroche, maybe – but it didn't matter because it felt like she had shoved her head into a bucket of cold water. Her shoulders followed and before she knew it her entire body was slipping through the looking glass.

It felt for a few moments like she was suspended in midair and she couldn't breathe, but then she was falling fast. She braced herself for the inevitable collision with the ground. Before she knew it, however, she was stood upright, both feet on the ground, and…She was stood a few feet away from the man in the portal. There was a soft pattering sound next to her and when she turned, the woman was stood there too. She had lost her shawl somewhere along the way, and was staring at the man with an almost reverent look on her face.

"You need to touch him so he can see us," the woman murmured, still not looking at Éponine but stepping forwards.

"So he can _see_ us? Why would you want him to _see_ us?" Éponine said, not moving.

"Because he is dying and I do not want him to die alone," the woman said. "I also have some things to say to him."

Éponine sighed heavily and began to walk forwards. Something caught her eye as she moved; she turned to look at a glimmering, pale blue light hovering in midair behind her. She paused to look at it.

"That's our way back," the woman said, her voice very quiet. "Don't worry, Éponine, it is not going anywhere."

Éponine moved closer to the man, still desperately trying to place his face. She had seen it before, she was sure. She reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. She could feel the solid form of his shoulder, but she could not feel the fabric of his shirt or the warmth of his body. Somehow, even though she did not know this man, she felt disappointed.

The man's eyes flickered open. He looked so tired. He gazed up at her, and his sleepy expression rearranged itself into one of confusion.

But then the woman was stepping close to him, into his line of vision, and he stopped looking at Éponine and began to look at the woman instead.

"Fantine…?" he murmured, voice wavering.

The woman – or Fantine, she supposed – began to talk, in a gentle, hushed voice. Éponine had heard that name before, too, from when she was a little girl. Éponine tried listening to what she was saying – they were kind words, thankful words, and Éponine felt like she was intruding on a very personal moment.

So, keeping her hand on the man's shoulder, she stopped listening and thought of anything else. She thought of Gavroche and Hyacinthe and Combeferre and Enjolras, and how she thought she might want to be back in her flat by now rather than _here_, in the living world. She wondered what would happen if she walked away now. Would she be able to wander amongst the streets? Would she be able to find Marius? That was tempting…More tempting than the prospect of travelling beyond the river…

She heard a flurry of movement and turned to look for the source of it. Her stomach jolted. Cosette, dressed in white, hurrying towards them, and behind her…Marius.

He looked healthy, Éponine observed, and rather handsome in expensive looking clothes. It did not take a genius to realise that Cosette was in her wedding dress. Éponine felt her hand slipping from the man's shoulder as everything fell into place. She had seen this man before, as a child when he came to collect Cosette, and again in the streets when they found Cosette again; and Fantine, from snide whispers from her parents about Cosette.

She closed her eyes and pressed her hands over them.

Something touched her shoulder. It was Fantine, a worried expression on her face. "Is everything all right?"

"I…I can't be here," Éponine murmured, staring at Marius. He and Cosette knelt before the man – what was his name? She didn't know his name.

"I just – I just need a few more moments," Fantine said, and she was looking, too, but not at the man but at Cosette. Ah, yes, Éponine thought to herself; Cosette was her daughter.

There was crying from the three living people, crying and soft and sad words spoken between the man and Cosette, promises from Marius. Éponine ached. She wanted to look away, and yet, she couldn't.

Fantine took her hand and placed it on the man's shoulder once more. Éponine was dimly aware of Fantine beginning to talk again, and then the man's shoulder seemed to slacken and give beneath her hand. Éponine looked up from Marius' kneeling form to see that the man now stood behind the chair – and yet, he was still sat upon it.

Éponine tried to make sense of things, but she couldn't. Her mind wasn't processing anything at all beyond the fact she wanted to go home.

Fantine held the man's hand in hers, and then let go of it. The man – the version that was stood – slowly faded away before Éponine's eyes.

Fantine cast one longing look in Cosette's direction before covering Éponine's hand where it lay on the man's shoulder.

"Come," she said. "Let's get you home."

Éponine had never heard a kinder set of words in her life. Hand in hand, Éponine and Fantine walked towards the glowing, pulsing blue light, and together, they walked through it and returned to the world of the dead.


	40. gone

**40**

Stepping into the blue light was like she was trying to squeeze herself through a gap that was far too small for her. It felt like her entire body was being squeezed. But then she was back in her apartment, breathing heavily, with Fantine by her side. She stumbled to the sofa and collapsed onto it, burying her face into her hands.

"Éponine," she heard Fantine saying. "Thank you. I really appreciate you for doing that for me."

Éponine spoke into her hands, not feeling quite ready to look the other woman in the eye. "You didn't give me a _choice_," she spat. "You forced me to go! I didn't want to!"

"Éponine, I _had to_," Fantine replied, her tone desperate. "Please, understand it – he could not be alone, not after all he has done for me. I wanted to be able to thank him –"

"And that couldn't have waited until he _died_?" Éponine lifted her head up, throat aching and eyes burning. "You had no right to drag me into this!"

"I had no _choice_," Fantine hissed. "Don't you see? _Look at me_!"

Éponine blinked at her. And she did look. And she saw, she saw what was bothering Fantine.

Fantine was changing. Her face, which had been narrow and gaunt before, the bones of her jaw and cheeks prominent and sharp, was beginning to fill out. The dark, bruise-like marks beneath her eyes were fading, until she no longer looked so tired. The flesh around her shoulders and neck, exposed by the low cut of her dress, was clearly becoming a little more plump, her collarbones becoming less obvious.

Fantine's mouth was twisted, and there was pain in her eyes. "I'm…It's done," she said. "I don't think…I don't think I'm going to be here for much longer –"

Éponine pushed herself to the edge of the sofa, gripping the edges of the cushions so tightly her knuckles went white. "What are you talking about?"

"I needed to thank him," Fantine said. "He raised my child and I needed…" Her eyes closed, and then she was gripping at her hair. Éponine's eyes widened. Her hair, which had been short tufts up until now, was growing and it was growing fast, the golden waves tumbling past her shoulders, shining brightly in the light of the candles. She was beautiful, Éponine thought.

Fantine ran her hands through her hair in an absent way, as if she had forgotten she was not alone.

"I needed to thank him," she murmured. "Because I was told – I was told I would not stay here past his death."

Éponine rose to her feet and cautiously stepped towards Fantine. The woman was so preoccupied with winding her fair curls around her fingers that she hadn't noticed her shawl slipping to the ground, pooling at her feet.

"What's happening?" Éponine asked, trying desperately to keep her voice level.

"I'm moving on," Fantine whispered, her voice breathless. "I think that's what they call it…" She let her hands drop from her hair, the softly waving strands falling over her chest. "I've never…I've never seen it happen before. Only seen friends go."

She looked at Éponine with wide, damp, sparkling eyes. "Look after Inès," she said. "Promise me you will look after Inès. She needs to be looked after."

"I can't –" Éponine began, but Fantine shook her head, stepping forwards.

"Promise me," she said. "I don't – her family will not make her happy, Éponine, but she likes you. If anyone can help Inès find happiness, it is you!"

Éponine shook her head, and suddenly Fantine's hands were biting into her shoulders. Fantine shook her. "Promise me!"

"I promise," Éponine said, the words spilling over her lips before she could think of what she was saying.

Fantine closed her eyes and stepped backwards. She reached up and touched her face, poking at her newly fleshed out cheeks in a surprised way. Éponine could see the outline of Fantine's tongue running over her teeth.

"I always thought I would get to meet Cosette once more," Fantine whispered. "But I know I won't. She was beautiful. I won't get to tell her I love her."

Éponine's throat was more than aching now. It was sore. She wanted to cry, and she wasn't really sure why.

"I can't ask you to do that for me," Fantine said. "That's asking too much, I think."

There was an odd, dreamy expression on Fantine's face now, but as quickly as it appeared it faded away, and she became very stricken all of a sudden. She tried stepping towards Éponine once more, but she stumbled. "You must help him," she said.

"What?" Éponine moved towards her in an attempt to help the woman right herself, but there was nothing to touch. Her hand went through Fantine's arm as if she was running her hand through smoke. "Help who?"

"Valjean," Fantine said. "He deserves it. Oh, they all deserve it!" Fantine stood up straight. "I want to help you," she said. "I want to do all of this myself. I'm asking so much of you, little Éponine, and it's not fair of me. I just – I don't want to go!"

It started with Fantine's feet, her boots slowly disintegrating and curling outwards like smoke, and then her whole body was rippling and twisting and fading.

Éponine stared at her. Their eyes met for one last time, the darkest brown on the lightest blue. Éponine could see everything in Fantine's eyes – her panic, her sadness, her regret, her happiness, her reluctance. She felt it, too, but then Fantine's head seemed to explode – no, _explode_ was too much, it was too violent, too aggressive – her head just…It went away, leaving behind wisps of yellow and gold and blue and a rosy, pinkish white.

It took Éponine a few minutes for it to truly sink in that she was alone and Fantine was gone, the only reminder that she had ever been there the shawl lying in a heap on the floor.

Éponine's knees gave way and she was crouched on the floor, picking up the soft cotton in her hands, winding it around her fists and wrists and she was crying, sobs torn from the very depths of her body. She had a horrible feeling she might be wailing like a baby, and she couldn't tell what was wrong – it was just too much, all of it was too much, everything was too much.

The door to the apartment banged open and Gavroche burst in. He was not alone. Combeferre ran in behind him, closely followed by Enjolras. Combeferre reached her first, his long legs eating up the space between them, and he was knelt beside her, his arm around her shoulders.

All she could do was hold the shawl out to him. "She left this," she whispered, the tears on her face hot and cold all at once. She looked around at the men stood over her – Combeferre was frowning, Enjolras' face was expressionless, and Gavroche looked like he was panicking – and Courfeyrac was just slipping through the door, concern written all over his face.

Combeferre took the shawl, gently unwinding it from Éponine's hands. "What happened, Éponine?" he murmured.

Éponine bowed her head. "She didn't want to go," was all she could whisper.


	41. promise

**41**

"What happened?" Combeferre repeated. He held the shawl in his hands, staring down at it in confusion, and then he crouched in front of her.

"She didn't want to go," Éponine murmured.

"Yes, you said that," Combeferre said, his voice slow. "But what does that _mean_, Éponine?"

"She…We…We went…Fantine and I…" Éponine pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead.

"Fantine? Who is Fantine?" Combeferre's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Inès." Éponine pressed harder, until she could almost make herself imagine that it hurt. Almost.

"What about Inès?" Combeferre said. His words were gentle as he tried to coax the information out of her.

"The woman…That woman…She lived with Inès. We went to the…the living world," Éponine said, trying to clear her throat. She looked up, at the people surrounding her, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

"The living world?" It was Courfeyrac who spoke this time, stepping forwards with an expression on his face that was somewhere between eager and horrified.

"Yes. She's – she's Cosette's mother." Éponine spat the other woman's name out of her mouth.

"Cosette?" Enjolras sounded very confused. "Who is Cosette?"

"Well, Marius' sweetheart was called Cosette," Courfeyrac said. Éponine blinked when Courfeyrac said Marius' name, and after that, the tears began to fall heavy again. "Did you mean that Cosette, Éponine?"

She nodded. "His _wife_," she said, her voice strangled. "We went to see them. A man was dying and Fantine…She wanted to be with him. I saw Marius," she added.

Combeferre put the shawl down on the ground and reached out to grip her shoulders. "Has a man just arrived here?"

Éponine shrugged. "Possibly," she said. "I don't know. He was called…He had a name – Val…Val-something-or-other…" She groped in her mind for the name and found it. "Valjean!"

Combeferre gave her shoulders a squeeze. "I'm going to go to the Guardians," he said, in a soft and soothing tone, "And let them know what has happened. But I need to know what happened. What has got you this upset? Éponine, you're crying…"

Courfeyrac made a noise in the back of his throat. "She saw _Marius_," he hissed. Combeferre glanced at his friend.

"I understand that," he said. "But that is not…"

"I don't want to talk about it," Éponine said.

Combeferre sighed. "Just tell us," he said. "You said she didn't want to go?"

"She's gone," Éponine said.

"Yes," Combeferre said. "Fantine, I assume?"

Éponine nodded.

"And where did she go?" Combeferre prompted.

Éponine shook her head and gestured at herself. "I don't know. She – she changed. She put on weight and her hair grew. It was odd. And she just – she just vanished. I've never – I don't _know_, Combeferre."

"Shh," Combeferre said, brushing a hand over her hair. "That's enough. I'm going to leave now, all right? Enjolras, Courfeyrac, you…You keep her company."

He straightened up from his crouch and walked away. It was Gavroche that took his place, sitting cross-legged and staring at her with an almost angry look on his face. She was dimly aware of the sound of the front door shutting, and then Enjolras was at her side. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her onto her feet without asking for her permission and more or less dragged her to put her on the sofa. Gavroche hurried to sit next to her, curling up against her body like a cat.

"You gave us all a fright," Courfeyrac said, cheerfully.

"I thought you weren't coming back," Gavroche admitted in a terrified whisper.

She covered her face with her hands again. "Don't say that," she snapped. "She didn't _want to go_. It was horrible. She just – And she didn't want to leave! She had things she wanted to _do_! She wasn't- she didn't want to leave Inès! It's so unfair – I can't – What if I do that?"

She knew she was babbling and panicking and her hands were knotted too tightly in her hair.

"I don't want to go," she said. "I don't want that to happen to me! Or to any of you! I can't – I can't leave Gavroche, or…"

"Éponine," Enjolras tried to interrupt, but she ploughed on regardless.

"It was horrible and I can't _bear_ the thought of it happening to me! She looked so scared and she didn't want to go – I can't –"

"Éponine!" Enjolras almost shouted her name and his hands wrapped around her fingers, prising her hands away from her face. "Éponine, _look at me_. You're not going _anywhere_."

"But I might!" Éponine tried to pull her hands away from his, but he held on fast.

"No, you won't," Enjolras said. "I promise you. I have looked you in the eye – I _am_ looking you in the eye – and you are _not leaving here_. You are going to stay here. You are never going to turn to smoke, Éponine, not like the rest. You're not going to leave Gavroche alone, do you see? You're going to stay here and you're going to be _happy_, I _promise_."

He was looking her in the eye, as well. His eyes were so blue and they were sincere and honest. She didn't understand what he was saying but she _believed_ him – _you are never going to turn to smoke, Éponine, not like the rest_…

"How do you _know_ that, though?" Éponine whispered.

"I just do," he replied, his voice just as quiet as hers. It must have sounded loud in the quietness of the room, though. "I see what happens to people, at the end of their time here, and you…Your time here doesn't end."

Enjolras allowed Éponine to pull her hand away again so that she could wipe it across her face, dashing the tears away from her cheeks. She managed a small nod, and turned to Gavroche. He was staring up at her with big, nervous eyes, and she folded her arms around him and pressed her face into his short, scruffy hair.

She was aware of Enjolras and Courfeyrac moving around her flat, but she didn't look up to see what they were doing. She felt a light weight press into her knee and looked down from Gavroche to see Hyacinthe creeping onto her lap, nosing her face into Éponine's hand. Éponine let go of Gavroche for a moment to stroke the top of the kitten's head, and sighed as Hyacinthe curled up into a little fluffy ball on her knee. Not long after, Éponine felt her eyes drifting shut, the events of the evening having exhausted her completely.


	42. comfort

**42**

She came to a little later, with Gavroche still curled up beside her. Hyacinthe had got off her knee at some point, and she yawned and stretched before twisting to look at what was going on around her.

Enjolras and Courfeyrac stood at the kitchen, talking quietly. It was Courfeyrac who spotted her first, and he smiled at her.

"Hello, sleepy," he said, voice soft and gentle and muted, presumably so he didn't wake Gavroche.

"How long was I asleep for?" she asked, gently moving Gavroche away from her so that she could stand. She gently lowered Gavroche back down to the sofa cushions and smoothed a hand over his hair.

"Just over an hour, I'd say," Courfeyrac said. "How are you feeling now?"

"Tired," she said. "But…" She shrugged, not really wanting to say the words _I feel less like I'm going to burst into tears_.

"I conjured some cake," Courfeyrac said, gesturing towards a slightly wonky and squished looking sponge cake sat on a plate. It hadn't been touched, being completely whole and a pale golden brown in colour.

"We didn't dare touch it," Enjolras said, giving it a slightly wary look.

"That's because I conjured it for _you_, Éponine, not for Enjolras," Courfeyrac said, in a haughty voice. When he looked at her now he had a serious look on his face, with a hint of concern behind his eyes. "It was just something I thought might cheer you up, but I'm not too good at conjuring food – I completely understand if you feel like throwing it out of the window once you've tried it."

She appreciated the sentiment and told him so, and pulled the plate towards her and broke off a piece with her fingers. She popped it into her mouth and chewed. It had a texture more like bread than cake and tasted vaguely sweet. It wasn't the best cake she had ever eaten, but it wasn't the worst either, so she broke off a larger piece and took another bite, giving him a smile. She swallowed. "Thank you, Courfeyrac," she said. "It's very kind of you."

The grin she got from him in response was as bright as the sun.

Beside them, Enjolras cleared his throat.

"Do you feel ready to explain more?" he asked.

"There's not really much to explain," Éponine said, pulling off another chunk of cake and nibbling at the edge. "Fantine came here, she said she knew I could take her to the living world, she pushed me through the mirror which was actually a Portal and then…She wanted to be with that man as he died. He was Cosette's father, I think? I almost remember him."

"You said that Marius was there," Enjolras said.

"Yes, he was," Éponine said. "I think that he…I think that he married Cosette."

"Good for him," Courfeyrac said. His grin had dimmed somewhat, but it still reached his eyes. "I had high hopes for them – you know, before we were thrust into a life or death situation."

Éponine realised that she was pulling the cake apart with her fingers instead of eating it. "I hadn't," she muttered, darkly, but then she cleared her throat. "Then we came back, and…And we were here, but then she just…"

"You don't need to tell us that part," Enjolras said, gently. "I know what happened."

"I'm not exactly clear on that point," Courfeyrac admitted.

"You don't have to be," Enjolras said. "I'll explain later."

It was a clear warning, Éponine could tell; Enjolras didn't want her to get upset again, and if Éponine was completely honest she didn't really want to discuss Fantine's disappearance any further.

There was a knock at the door. Enjolras went to answer it.

"I'm sorry if it seemed like I was trying to make you go over the events again," Courfeyrac said in a quiet voice. "I didn't think. I have no desire to see you that upset again."

"I don't –" Éponine began, but then she realised that Combeferre had stepped through her front door, closely followed by Éléonore.

Éléonore's hair was loose and tumbling over her shoulders, and she wore no jewellery, just a white night dress with a quilted jacket over the top, pulled tightly around herself, and she wore her boots.

"Éponine," she said, rushing forwards. "Combeferre told me everything – well, everything that he knew – I hope you're all right! I have known Fantine for years and I never thought she'd do something like this, this really wasn't fair on _you_, not when you don't understand…"

Éléonore stopped in front of Éponine and took her hands in hers. Her quilted jacket fell open, revealing her chest and throat. Éponine's eyes were immediately drawn to the odd, puckered, purplish slashes over Éléonore's neck and chest. It occurred to Éponine for a second that she had never seen Éléonore wear anything that didn't cover her neck, and she imagined that this was why.

But then the thought was gone.

"You could just _tell me_," Éponine said.

"I could never explain it as well as our expert," Éléonore said, shaking her head so that her auburn curls bounced. "Are you all right, though? Have you slept? You should probably sleep – travel between the worlds of the living and the dead are exhausting –"

"She has slept," Enjolras said.

"I feel all right, just a bit shaken," Éponine said, giving the woman a small smile and trying to free her hands from Éléonore's. Although she had gotten used to the twisted state of one of her hands, she still didn't feel completely comfortable with other people touching it. "What of Valjean?"

"There are Guardians out looking for him," Combeferre answered.

"I'm not working tonight," Éléonore said, finally pulling her hands away from Éponine to close her jacket around herself. "You can probably tell."

"I just thought I would go and see her," Combeferre said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"But I wanted to come and see _you_, this is so horrible, Éponine…" Éléonore's eyes were big and wide and it was a far cry from the calm, collected woman she usually saw at the Guardian's building. "We need to tell Inès."

Éponine understood, then, why Éléonore was there, and her stomach dropped. She began to shake her head.

"Éponine, please." Éléonore bit her lip. "Inès listens to you – you can get through to her in a way I can't. She'll need someone now Fantine as gone, what with her family…"

Éléonore's gaze darkened at the mention of Inès' family, but then she cleared her throat and shook her head.

"Éléonore, Éponine has been through a lot tonight," Courfeyrac said. "You said yourself, she needs sleep…"

"Yes, of course, I understand that," Éléonore said. "It could wait until morning, but I know that Inès will start to worry soon, Fantine has a very predictable routine these days…"

Éponine looked past Éléonore to the three men that stood behind her. Combeferre still looked worried, Enjolras had a hard look on his face, and Courfeyrac was no longer smiling. She focused her gaze on Combeferre mostly.

He gave a small shrug of his shoulders, before speaking. "Éléonore, as Courfeyrac said, it has been a difficult evening for Éponine. It is possible that talking to Inès _now_ would be even more emotionally upsetting…"

"Combeferre is right," Éponine answered for herself. "I don't think I _could_…You know she'll only end up shouting at me."

Éléonore bit her lip. "She deserves to know," Éléonore murmured under her breath, and it looked like she was thinking hard for a few moments before she lifted her eyes to meet Éponine's once more and continued, "I will go and tell her myself, but I would appreciate it if you visited her early tomorrow. As I said, she will need all the help she can get."

Before Éponine could respond, Éléonore had stepped into Éponine's personal space and wrapped her arms around her, giving her a tight hug. Then she drew away, holding Éponine at arm's length by placing her hands on her shoulder.

"The expert will be here soon," she said, her voice a soft murmur. "Then everything will be explained and you will understand a little better."

She stepped back, her hands falling away, and then tightened her jacket around herself once more.

"I will walk you to Inès'," Combeferre said, after a few moments had passed.

Éléonore nodded. With one last glance at Éponine, she said, "I hope you feel better tomorrow morning, Éponine."

Then, arm in arm with Combeferre, she left the apartment.

XXX

Éponine woke the next morning in her bed, wearing her usual dress instead of the nightdress she preferred to sleep in. She thought about the evening before, all of it, all the horrible, uncomfortable little details, and Éléonore's instruction to visit Inès the following morning. She then remembered sitting on the sofa again, gently stroking Gavroche's hair, and she supposed she must have fallen asleep again.

She got out of bed and padded across the room to the door. She could hear voices beyond it – male voices, Courfeyrac and Enjolras.

"…You didn't need to stay." That was Enjolras.

"I wanted to. I was worried about her last night, just as much as you were…And then there's Gavroche to think about."

Enjolras made a small noise, and it had Courfeyrac laughing.

"I don't know what you're thinking with this, Enjolras, but I can tell you you're probably imagining it."

Éponine pushed the door open.

"Good morning," she said, rubbing at her eyes.

"Morning," Courfeyrac said cheerfully. "Do you feel better this morning?"

"I don't feel as tired," Éponine said with a shrug.

"Gavroche is still asleep," Enjolras said, hands braced on the table. Courfeyrac was perched on the edge of the table, one foot grazing the floor, his hands linked loosely together over his knees.

"You stayed here all night?" Éponine guessed. "You didn't have to. I would have been fine. I wasn't planning anymore trips to the world of the living."

"Whilst that is a comfort, neither of us minded," Courfeyrac said. "Gavroche woke up not long after you fell asleep and he was very distressed about the idea of you disappearing again…"

Éponine closed her eyes and pressed a hand over her face.

She heard the sound of feet hitting the floor and then looked upw hen she felt a presence hovering over her. Courfeyrac was watching her with an apologetic expression on his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "My mouth gets away from me sometimes – you might have noticed. I didn't mean to upset you."

She wanted to say something, perhaps reassure him about it, but just then there was a rapping sound at the door.

"I should answer the door," Éponine said, walking around Courfeyrac to open the door.

Inès was stood there. Her face was flushed, damp with tears, her eyes swollen, and she was wearing what was obviously her nightdress with mismatching shoes (one boot and one slipper) with a gaudily patterned shawl thrown around her shoulders. There was a handkerchief in her hands and she was twisting it around her fingers.

She barged past Éponine without waiting for her to say she could come in, and flopped down on the sofa, face down, skirts rucking up to her knees, revealing rather skinny legs.

Éponine shut the door behind her and glanced to Courfeyrac and Enjolras. The two men were rather pointedly looking in another direction. With a sigh, Éponine approached the younger girl and pulled her skirts down so they covered her legs and then sat on the sofa near her head.

Inès' thin shoulders were heaving up and down with the force of her sobs. Éponine patted her head.

Inès lifted her face, features all twisted, despair obvious in her eyes. "Why is everything going wrong?" she asked miserably.

"It's not," Éponine tried to deny, but Inès shook her head and scrambled backwards on the sofa, dragging her handkerchief across her nose.

"Yes, it is," she said. "My _family_ is here – and I don't like any of them, they're just as annoying as I remember them to be and Arnaud is so _irritating_ – and my mother won't shut up about the other brother, the one that's still alive, she wants him to be here with us and I'm sick of hearing about him! And then to top it off, _Fantine_…" Her lower lip wobbled and she buried her face into the back cushions of the sofa.

Éponine glanced over her shoulder towards the two men who were still stood there, looking incredibly awkward.

"Things will get better," Éponine said, a little lamely, giving Inès another pat on the head.

"Do you really believe that?" Inès demanded, voice muffled by the sofa.

Éponine hesitated. "Well," she said. "I don't suppose things can get much worse, can they?"

Inès let out a little gurgle of a laugh, that sounded a little too close to hysterical for Éponine's liking, and then she was sobbing again.

"It's been Fantine and me for so long," Inès said, tipping her head back. There were damp stains on the sofa from where she'd pressed her face into the fabric. "I don't – it's been so _long_ since I've been on my own and I don't know if I can do it."

"You're not on your own," Éponine said.

"I don't consider my family very good company," Inès snapped.

"I agree with you," Éponine said. "They're very annoying and you don't like them, which is _fine_, but you have…Éléonore, and the other Guardians and…I suppose you kind of have _me_ as well?"

Inès sniffled. "But none of you are Fantine."

"No, but Fantine…" Éponine bit her lip. "We're what you've got, though, and we're not…terrible people to have around."

Inès rested the side of her head against the sofa and closed her eyes. "I need her."

"I think…" Éponine pursed her lips and then said, "I think it might _seem_ like you need her right now, but it will get better."

Inès made a soft huffing noise but didn't respond.

"You know, Fantine asked me to look after you," Éponine said, lowering her voice to just more than a whisper. "Just before she…went."

Inès opened one eye.

"I don't need looking after," she protested. "Not by _you_. I just need…"

"Fantine?" Éponine supplied, and patted Inès on the head again.

Inès nodded. Her lower lip wobbled again and she pressed her face into her handkerchief. Éponine sighed and let her fingers tangle into the yellow curls on Inès' head, not sure what else she could say.


	43. expert

**43**

A few days past. Inès more or less lived at Éponine and Gavroche's apartment. Éponine had no objections; she made refreshingly different company than the usual males that occupied her flat, and she managed to strike up an odd sort of friendship with Gavroche. This friendship formed when Courfeyrac taught Inès how to play chess and Gavroche challenged her to a game. It turned out that Inès was better at chess than Gavroche, and it led to all sorts of arguments and, on one occasion, Inès hitting Gavroche over the head with a cushion.

If nothing else Éponine was grateful that Gavroche was managing to take Inès' mind off all of her problems, especially Fantine's disappearance. However, in the evenings, Gavroche often went to either Courfeyrac's apartment or Jehan's apartment for tea with the students, and that left Éponine alone with Inès.

These evenings were spent talking, as Inès still liked to talk, and Éponine found that she enjoyed these little conversations. They still argued occasionally, silly little arguments where they sniped at each other's opinions viciously, but these arguments were beginning to end more and more with giggles rather than one of them storming out of the room.

The main problem that Inès was facing, besides her grief, was avoiding her family, particularly her mother. Her mother, Jeanne, seemed to know what street that Éponine lived on and had been seen wandering up and down, staring up at the houses as if she imagined Inès would just be hanging out of a window. She hadn't stooped to knocking on doors _just_ yet, which Éponine was grateful for. She didn't know any of her neighbours but she had no desire to introduce herself to them by yelling at Jeanne in the street.

Inès, for whatever reason, did not want to see her family. She had gone home briefly after the morning she arrived in Éponine's flat, only to have argued with her mother and eldest sister regarding their wish to move in to the house she shared with Fantine. That was when Inès appeared back at Éponine's flat, in tears once again. Courfeyrac had managed to persuade Éponine _not_ to seek out Jeanne, as she had felt a wave of protectiveness when faced with the crying Inès and desperately wanted to tell Jeanne to leave Inès alone.

Every night, Éponine would make up a bed on the sofa for Inès. Inès often grumbled about how uncomfortable the sofa was to sleep on, and Éponine would remind her she was willing to go home and sleep in her own bed, and Inès would just huff and roll over and pretend she was sleeping.

Éponine found that she was quite happy with this little arrangement. Looking after Inès was a suitable distraction whilst Éponine waited for the expert to arrive, and she was almost beginning to dread the moment this fragile sort of peace was disturbed by the arrival of the expert, whoever he was.

This happened after almost a week.

She was watching Gavroche and Inès throw chess pieces at each other when there was a knock at the door.

She jumped up to look out of the window, almost pressing her face against the window to see if she could see the landing outside her door. She could just about see red hair, and none of Inès' family had red hair, so she opened the door.

It was Éléonore, looking altogether more lovely than she had done the last time they had seen each other. Her hair was arranged in a bun on one side of her head, and there were ropes of pearls around her neck and diamonds glittering on her fingers.

"The expert has arrived," she said, bluntly. "She wants to see you as soon as possible, so I am going to take you to see her now."

"Now?" Éponine echoed. "I mean, can't I just…I don't know…"

"I think it would be best if we just went," Éléonore said. "She's not the most patient of women."

Éponine glanced over her shoulder. "Let me just put my shoes on," she said. "You're welcome to come inside, of course, just watch out for flying pawns."

Éléonore did come inside, and as Éponine disappeared into her room to hunt down her boots she became aware that the game of throwing chess pieces seemed to stop and that Éléonore was talking to Inès.

Once she had put on her boots and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, she emerged into the living room to find Gavroche and Inès fighting over a chess piece and Éléonore watching with amused eyes.

"I'm ready," Éponine said, her heart hammering with anticipation. "You two will be all right if I go out, won't you?"

"I'm not a child," Inès said snippily, cuffing Gavroche over the head. "I'm the second oldest person in this room!"

"Act like it, then," Éponine sniffed back, then smiled at Éléonore as Inès spluttered. "Shall we go, then?"

Éléonore bowed her head, and together they left the apartment.

XXX

They had been walking for five minutes and with every step Éponine's nervousness grew. They were on the same street as Combeferre's flat and she couldn't help but stare at the flat as they passed it.

"I want Combeferre there," she said, suddenly, coming to a stop.

Éléonore turned to look back at her. "Oh?"

"I just – I'm nervous," Éponine admitted.

"Well, I don't see any harm in taking him along," Éléonore said. "I can't promise she'll let him in the room with you, but we'll just have to see, won't we?"

Éléonore waited on the street whilst Éponine knocked on the door and waited for it to be answered.

It was Courfeyrac who opened it, shrugging on a brown jacket as he did so. "Éponine!" he exclaimed, voice bright and cheery. "How can I help you today?"

She wound her hands together. "Is Combeferre in?"

"Of course he is," Courfeyrac said, adjusting the cuffs on his jacket before standing aside. "Combeferre, Éponine is here to see you."

She stepped inside the flat to see Combeferre rising slowly from the sofa, shutting a hardback book as he stood. His eyebrows were raised in a questioning manner. He looked over her form and took in her knotted fingers and the awkward way she held herself.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine," Éponine assured him. "Well, for now, that is – it's just – the expert has arrived."

Combeferre nodded. "It's about time," he commented.

"I don't want to go there alone," Éponine said quickly. "Éléonore is with me, but…I'd like it if _you_ were there, Combeferre. If you're not busy, of course…"

"I'm not busy at all," Combeferre said, giving her a smile. "Just let me put on a coat."

He disappeared into his room, leaving Éponine alone with Courfeyrac.

"I'm sure there's nothing to be nervous about," the man said kindly.

"I can't help it," Éponine admitted. "I'm worried about what they might tell me…What I _am_…"

"You're a woman," Courfeyrac said. "A woman named Éponine, who had a difficult life when she lived, a better one in death, and likes reading and conjures the best macaroons I've ever eaten. For what it's worth, I also think you can be very kind. Nothing that this 'expert' will tell you today will change any of that."

Éponine stared at him, uncertain of what to say, but Combeferre's bedroom door opened and he stepped back out, now wearing a blue frockcoat.

"Now, is there anything I can do to help in this situation?" Courfeyrac said smoothly, as if he hadn't said anything at all.

"I thought you were going out?" Combeferre said. "Meeting up with Bahorel?"

"I was," Courfeyrac agreed, "But plans can change. Éponine?"

"If it's not too much to ask, could you go and watch over Gavroche and Inès?" Éponine said, feeling a little embarrassed. "I know that they're fine to look after themselves, but Inès is still…"

"Fragile?" Combeferre suggested.

"That's one word for it," Éponine said, shrugging her shoulders. "I just don't want her mother turning up – I'm not sure that Inès could handle seeing her right now."

"I can do that," Courfeyrac said with a nod. "Bahorel will just have to deal with the change of plan."

Courfeyrac followed them out of Combeferre's apartment and onto the street, where they bade him goodbye and went their separate ways.

Combeferre greeted Éléonore by kissing her hand, and then they continued their walk.

"Could you possibly tell us a little more about this expert?" Combeferre inquired.

Éléonore bit her lip. "You probably know her quite well," she said, with a humourless smile. "The expert is Clémence Lefebvre – I believe you're both familiar with her works?"

Combeferre gaped, whilst Éponine shrugged. "I found her work to be a tad on the pretentious side," she said, honestly.

"You sound just like Enjolras," Combeferre murmured with a roll of his eyes, before saying, "You kept that very quiet, Éléonore."

"Clémence is a very private person," Éléonore said. "Very private, and yes, sometimes she is very pretentious – as well as impatient and a little rude, just as a warning."

"How well do you know her?" Combeferre questioned.

"She used to be the Head Guardian for many years," Éléonore said. "No one knows how long she has been here, and by her own admittance, Clémence Lefebvre is not her real name, it is one she adopted. She knows this place inside and out. Even though she _can_ be difficult I do sometimes miss her input when dealing with _difficult_ cases…She's so difficult to get hold of, too…I swear she enjoys it."

"She sounds…interesting," Éponine muttered.

"Yes, she is," Éléonore said. "Here we are…"

They stopped outside a set of large ornate gates, grey in colour, the metal wound into patterns of vines and little iron roses fixed upon it, along with the occasional bird in flight.

The gates swung open with a high pitched whine, and Éléonore ushered them through.

The gates led onto a wide, sweeping driveway, covered in chipped stone; on either side was perfectly kept grass, the blades all uniform sizes and completely uninterrupted. There were clusters of bushes bearing flowers of red and blue and white and yellow. The gates shut behind then with a clank.

At the end of the driveway was a house. It had a blue tiled roof, pinkish brick walls, and three storeys. On the ground floor there was a large wooden door with a short flight of stone steps leading up to it, but there were two larger flights of stairs on either side of this door, leading up to a landing built over it. There was a much larger, grander door on this landing, and the door was painted a rich blue, almost black, and an ornate door knocker in the shape of a snarling dog was nailed to the front.

Éponine had never seen a house quite like it, and wondered to herself whether or not she could see herself living there. She decided after not very long at all that she probably could, but she wouldn't know what to do with the multitude of rooms that undoubtedly waited inside. She imagined that a house like this could probably house all of the students and then some. And she could probably have a library all of her own, filled with books, and too many comfy armchairs to choose from…

Éléonore ignored the smaller door and walked up one of the larger flights of stairs. Combeferre stood aside to allow Éponine to climb the stairs first. She stood behind Éléonore as the other woman grasped the knocker in her hands and let it fall. She knocked three times before the door opened, and Éléonore's slim white hand fell away from the door and she stepped back. Éponine had to edge backwards so that Éléonore didn't stand on her feet.

A tall, thin man stood there. He had an impassive face and wore a white wig over his hair, and wore a rather ugly outfit of purple and gold stripes. He bowed his head.

"_Mademoiselle_ Foucquet," he said, in a smooth voice. "And…guests."

He opened the door wider so that they could come inside. The hall they walked into had marble floors and walls the colour of the sky, and a huge marble staircase leading upwards. There were too many paintings on the walls to count, and just as many little doors leading off. There were also sculptures and vases and large potted plants, and an immaculate chaise longue was tucked into an archway.

"_Mademoiselle_ Lefebvre is in her conservatory, if you would like to follow Anne," the man said, shutting the door.

Anne was a young girl with hair so blonde it was almost white, and her dress was made of the same purple and gold material as the man's uniform. She had her hands clasped in front of her as she led them through one of the small doors down a narrow corridor. This, too, had walls lined with paintings and the occasional archway leading onto other rooms. Éponine craned her neck to try and see into these rooms. She caught glimpses of large cabinets and sofas and intricately patterned rugs and long tables. Even just by these small glances she could tell that it was by far the grandest house she had ever been in.

The corridor led into a large room. All Éponine could see in here was red – that was the first, overwhelming thought that she had. All of the wood in here was rich and dark, the walls the colour of blood with matching sofas and armchairs set around a wide mahogany table with short legs.

But on the far wall was a set of windows, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, and Éponine realised that the ones in the middle were in fact doors and they were propped open.

"_Mademoiselle _Foucquet is here to see you, _mademoiselle_," Anne said, standing to one side.

Éléonore strode forwards towards these doors, which led onto a room with glass walls.

Éponine followed her inside. The walls were high, leading to a domed ceiling, and everything in this room was white, from the shiny marble floors to the long table to the vases, and in all of the vases were large green plants broken up by flowers of all colours and sizes. It meant that the light that shone through the glass reflected and made the room almost uncomfortably bright. There was a large door at the far end which was also open, and framed in the doorway, almost glowing from all the brightness, was a woman who could only be Clémence Lefebvre.

She was tall – that was possibly the first thing that Éponine noticed – and her hair was red, but not the fiery ginger of Éléonore's mane, but a deeper, richer colour, almost like red wine. It was done in a complicated style – lots of little plaits wound into loops and then longer, thicker plaits trailing over her shoulders. Her face was what Éponine would call _handsome_ – she had pretty blue eyes, but her nose and mouth was too wide to be considered traditionally beautiful.

What really caught Éponine's attention was what she was _wearing_. The dress was long, pooling over the marble floor, and it was made from ivory lace. It clung to every inch of her body, even her arms, but what made it scandalous was the neckline – it dipped in a narrow, dramatic V-shape to just above her navel, and there was a rather dramatic necklace fashioned from a net of large diamonds covering her exposed chest.

Just as Éponine had never seen a house as grand as this one, she had also never seen a woman wear something quite like that.

Clémence was smiling – or was it more of a smirk? Éponine couldn't tell.

"Clémence," Éléonore said.

"Éléonore," Clémence replied. "How nice it is to see you. You haven't changed at all."

"Neither have you. This is Éponine, the girl I have told you about." Éléonore reached out and took hold of Éponine's hand and pulled her forwards.

"Hello, Éponine," Clémence said. "And there is a third – I do not remember agreeing to see a third."

"My name is Combeferre, and I am here to support Éponine," Combeferre said before anyone else could respond on his behalf.

"Are you her lover?" Clémence asked bluntly.

Combeferre's cheeks flushed and he shook his head. "I am not. I am a friend, nothing more."

Clémence strode forwards, her dress dragging over the marble floor, until she was inches away from Éponine. Experience told Éponine not to flinch, not even when Clémence took Éponine's chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilted her head backwards. Éponine met Clémence's pale blue eyes and didn't look away.

"Hmm…No, you're right…You're not lovers, and you never will be…There _are_ men in Éponine's future, but you are not one of them, Combeferre…" Clémence smiled. "Men of the sun," she murmured, under her breath, but then she stepped away and gestured at the table and chairs that occupied the conservatory. "Please, sit."

Éponine did as she was instructed.

"We will have food in a few moments," Clémence said, taking the chair at the head of the table. "So…"

Éléonore cleared her throat. "I believe I told you about Éponine's experiences in our letters, and then what happened a few days ago I had a messenger inform you this morning, so there's no point in repeating it."

Éponine was grateful that Éléonore said that, as she didn't fancy going over all the finer details again – particularly not the night that Fantine disappeared.

"Ah, but I do love a good story," Clémence said, resting her elbow on the tabletop and cupping her chin in her hand. A moment later, a troop of girls came in, all clad in purple and gold, and carrying plates with various different cakes and pastries on them. They placed them on the table and then left.

"Éponine has found her experiences very difficult, Clémence," Éléonore said, a note of admonishment in her voice. "So I think we should keep this as simple as possible."

Clémence sat back in her chair. "Please, help yourself to some food," she said.

No one moved.

Clémence sighed and reached out to pick up a small iced cake. She stared at it for a few moments and then put it back onto the plate, before rubbing her fingertips together.

"I have met many people with your talents, Éponine, but few people who share all of them," Clémence said. "Your abilities are rare, as I'm sure Éléonore has told you."

"I already know that," Éponine said, feeling impatient.

"Yes, that's the easy part," Clémence said, cocking her head to one side. "You combine three separate things, which I have termed _dead states_. Most people are very basic – they're just dead, to be quite simple about it. Éléonore is one of those people, and so is Combeferre. They have no special abilities. However, there are _other _dead states which do possess special abilities, as you might have gathered."

Éponine nodded.

"There are a lot of different states," Clémence continued. "I am only going to tell you about the ones that you possess – at the moment, there is no need for you to know about the others."

Éponine reached out and picked up a small, pale pink macaroon with jam oozing from the middle. She took a bite and chewed, trying to keep herself occupied so she didn't start ripping the shawl around her shoulders through nervous fidgeting.

"I'll begin with the simplest of the states," Clémence said. "You have the ability to create Portals at will – all states here can do that but normal people, such as Éléonore or Combeferre, have little control over them. Their creation of Portals is involuntary, both the opening and closing of them. You, however, with practice, would be able to control them at will. You also have the ability to control other people's Portals. I refer to people who possess this ability as Openers, or Closers…It's up to the individual, I suppose, but most choose Openers. I suppose it sounds more positive."

Éponine glanced towards Combeferre. There was a look of concentration on his face. She wasn't sure why – this seemed fairly straightforward to Éponine, and it wasn't really anything that Éléonore hadn't already told her that time when she had closed Inès' Portal.

Clémence bowed her head a little before starting to speak again. "The next state, I call a Ghost. It's because that's what you become – this is basically the ability to travel between the land of the living, and the land of the dead. When you are in the land of the living, you have the ability to communicate with the living, and through the power of touch, allow other dead states to communicate with the living as well. Similarly, you can send others to the land of the living, and communicate with the living through Portals if you so wish. Naturally the living do not understand these events and has led to them terming such states as _ghosts_ so I follow them on this. It is, after all, what a dead state becomes when in the lands of the living."

"A _ghost_?" Éponine shook her head. "I'm a Ghost?"

"Yes, and no," Clémence replied slowly. "It's what I call those who possess the ability, and I suppose it is what you become when you are in the lands of the living. But sat here, right now, you're just…Well, you're Éponine, I suppose – you're a dead person. Are you following me?"

"No," Éponine said honestly, "But I don't…Never mind. What is the third state?"

"Ah." Clémence smiled. "The third state is a little more complicated as I have to explain some…other aspects…"

Éponine wished she would just get on with it if that were the case, but she didn't say as much out loud. There was a long pause, then Clémence began to talk again.

"The lands of the dead are vast," she began. "It is incomprehensible just _how_ big they actually are – if you can try and imagine, this place must hold all of the people who have ever lived and died, those who have not moved on already, of course…It is also split into different areas. This area you inhabit roughly corresponds to Paris, and some areas outside it. That means that everyone who dies in Paris will wake up here. Lying outside the boundaries of this area are the places that neighbour Paris. Beyond them is the rest of France, and then beyond that is other countries. But even though these areas are massive in scale, they can also seem rather small. You are never very far from the walls that form the area's boundaries. These boundaries are not able to be crossed by normal states. However, some people _need_ to leave the area they died in, for their own…Personal reasons. The incident that happened with you a few days ago, with the family of people, needed to be in Paris, but only one of the party actually died here. She needed to travel through these other zones to get here. The only way to get through the walls is to be touched by someone like you, Éponine. There are states who can move through the barriers around the areas at will, and obviously help others through them as well. That family will have met many people like you on their travels, Éponine. I call them Pushers."

Éponine looked down at her lap. "So I have…Those are the three abilities I possess?"

"Yes," Clémence said. "You are an Opener, Ghost and Pusher all rolled into one. I have not yet come up with a term to refer to people such as yourself, but I am working on it…"

"And what does it _mean_?" Éponine demanded. "Why can I do all of this?"

"I can only speculate…" Clémence said quietly, and she shrugged. Then she stood, very quickly and very suddenly. "Would you like to take a walk with me in the gardens, Éponine?"

"What?" Éponine furrowed her brow.

"I will explain more in the gardens, if you will walk with me now," Clémence said. "Alone," she added, when Éléonore and Combeferre looked as if they might stand up.

Éponine rose slowly, swallowing. She looked to Combeferre for help, and he in turn glanced to Éléonore, but she almost imperceptibly gave a shake of her head.

Clémence walked over to the door, her skirts rustling.

"Come along, Éponine," Clémence commanded, and Éponine felt she had no choice but to follow.

**A/N: If there's any of the explanation that is confusing please let me know so I can either fit a better explanation in the following chapters/in another author's note/in a private message :) This is actually coming a few chapters early as I intended to drag it out a bit longer but I felt mean haha…But there's more to come in the next chapter.**


	44. trapped

**44**

The gardens were just as beautiful as the house itself. They walked together down wide paths of chipped stone, amongst a maze of flowerbeds. The flowerbeds themselves were regimented squares of colour, reds and blues and yellows and purples and whites and oranges of all different shades, and little trees shaped into the silhouettes of horses, large cats, dogs, and curvaceous women, not one leaf out of place in any of the sculptures. There were larger trees too, some of the smallest bearing fruit such as apples that had fallen off the tree and rolled over the neatly clipped grass beneath, and the largest being a massive plum tree with huge roots. Willows grew here and there along the path, their long fronds hanging over the paths and providing shade; beneath their long branches sat stone benches with intricate scenes etched into the stone, depicting couples kissing, women praying and in one scene, what looked like a man flying towards the sun.

They walked without speaking along these paths, Clémence humming under her breath as Éponine drank in the sights around her. The garden was a riot for Éponine's eyes and she didn't know where to look. The stones beneath her feet crunched with every step and she swore she could hear running water.

Clémence turned down a path lined with tall hedges and Éponine followed. The path led them to a small wooden door set into the wall that ran around the edge of the garden. Clémence lifted the heavy iron latch on the door and pushed it inwards.

This part of the garden was as lush as the rest but in a different way – there was no explosion of colours here apart from rich greens and earthy browns. The grass was long and unkempt, although a very path had been carved out. The trees were all big and the roots were all over the place, some bubbling up beneath the well-trodden path that Clémence led her down. The little door shut behind them with a soft thud, and Éponine spared it a small glance.

Clémence lifted her dress so she could walk without it dragging on the grass and dirt, but she still kept the same brisk pace and didn't speak a word.

Eventually the grass grew shorter and shorter until it was nothing more than spongy moss growing thickly over bumpy earth, and they were walking along the edge of a stream. The silvery water bubbled over rocks, the sound soothing and pleasant to Éponine's ears. She realised as she listened to it that the river _she_ was used to never ran and was always still and silent. This stream, however, was the liveliest thing she'd seen since arriving here.

"Do you like my home?" Clementine asked suddenly.

"It's beautiful," Éponine said honestly. "I've only ever seen apartments here."

"The dead can be so unimaginative," Clementine sighed. "I haven't been here in a very long time," she added, her pale eyes sweeping the trees above their heads. "As beautiful as I find it, it pains me to be here…So many good memories…"

They fell silent once more. The stream widened considerably, and there was a small waterfall, and above it a large pool of water with yet another waterfall crashing into it. The path was rising upwards now into a hill, and the stream continued with it. Clémence, however, stopped at the side of the pool. Next to the pool was a small wooden bench, roughly carved, and etched into the back was a set of initials – a 'C' and an 'B'.

Clémence sat down on the bench and clasped her hands in her lap. Éponine hesitated before sitting beside her. She stared at the pool. It was surrounded by rocks and boulders, grass and some tiny flowers sprouting from in between them. The water in the pool managed to look still as well as rushing over the edge of the cliff.

"As I said to you, I can only speculate about what your powers are for," Clémence said. "There are times when I think that your powers can bring comfort to the dead…You can allow people to find peace, such as in the incident with Fantine, or give them comfort by allowing them to see a loved one is happy. That is the good side of your gift – the side I like."

"And the bad side?" Éponine said. "Éléonore said that people – people can get addicted to Portals…"

"Yes, that happens," Clémence said. "I have seen people waste away – as much as a person _can_ here – before a Portal; I have seen them become entranced with the world of the living instead of taking their chance to make themselves happy…I have seen people waste fifty years in front of Portals when they could have moved on within two days of dying if they had just looked at what was right in front of them."

"Moved on?" Éponine said, curiously.

"I'll get to that in a moment," Clémence said, waving a hand. "I have also seen people destroyed by their ability to go _to_ the world of the living, for the same reasons – some kind of addiction, usually. And sometimes, the people _with_ the ability have no desire to use it but are harassed and bullied and coerced into taking others there…It is regulated now, and people with your ability can seek protection. It is amazing how many find they need _protecting_." She looked at Éponine. "Of all your abilities, the power to help people to other areas in the lands of the dead is by _far_ the kindest – there aren't many people who become addicted to leaving their homes, let me tell you."

There was a pause, and then Clémence said, "What Fantine did the other night was risky – and it was not kind. I knew Fantine. She was a good woman – one of the best – and she had one of the kindest hearts I have ever come across. But what she did was foolish and dangerous for you, and it was not a risk she should have taken without explaining to you the whole problem. You see, travelling to the world of the living is not without its consequences."

Éponine brushed hair out of her face and nodded. "Such as?"

"When people die, they stay here until they move on," Clémence said. "I do not know where they move on _to_, but they leave. Everyone does it eventually – a puff of smoke, and they have left us behind." There was a note of bitterness in her voice. "It is tricky to say _why_ people move on, but they do not have a choice in the matter. Usually it is an event, or a realisation they have come to, and they achieve _happiness_ and then they leave. It is the best you can hope for."

Éponine thought of Fantine's desperation to _stay_ and doubted that.

"But travelling to the living world can affect someone's ability to move on," Clémence said. "Everyone has a certain amount of times they can travel before they become trapped here – and will remain trapped here. I travelled to the living world three times, stupidly, and now I am trapped. I knew it would happen, and I did it anyway, because I was too young to know what it meant, to _stay here_, for thousands of years on end…" Clémence shook her head, as if she realised she did not want to say what she had just said out loud. "Fantine has taken away one of your visits to the world of the living."

"And how many do I have left?" Éponine said, curiously.

"Four," Clémence said, calmly. "Your friend Combeferre has seven, and Éléonore has twelve – but neither of them will ever venture to the world of the living."

Éponine thought about this. She cleared her throat. "I have a friend," she said, slowly.

"Yes," Clémence said. "You do. And he told you that you would never leave. That you would stay here."

"Was he right?" Éponine knew that Clémence knew the answer.

"Yes," Clémence said, after a heartbeat passed. "You will travel to the world of the living four more times."

Éponine closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Clémence said, and Éponine felt the lightest of touches at her elbow. "It is not something I would wish on anybody, and I _am_ sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But if it is any consolation, you will not be alone."

Éponine recalled Clémence's earlier words and muttered, "Men of the sun, by any chance?"

Clémence didn't respond to that question, but instead said, "I would like to meet your friend."

"Enjolras?" Éponine said.

"Yes," Clémence said. "I saw him in you, when I looked. He is another of the states. There is a dead state that can see people's futures, and Enjolras is one of them." Clémence turned to look at her. "You should come back here tomorrow, and bring Enjolras with you."

Once more, Éponine felt like this was a command she had no choice but to comply with. So she nodded. "I will go from here and speak to him," she assured Clémence.

"Good."

A few more moments passed. Éponine watched the flowing water in front of her and breathed in the scent of earth and flowers. She closed her eyes. She managed to feel calm here, whilst her mind was trying its best to run riot with all of the information she had just learned.

She was never moving on, whatever that actually entailed, and she was going to journey back to the lands of the living four more times and trap herself here, and Enjolras _knew_ that, knew she was never going to leave…But he had never mentioned it. She didn't blame him – they barely knew each other, not really, and it wasn't exactly something you dropped into conversation and yet…She just wished she could have heard that news from a friendlier mouth than Clémence's.

"Éléonore and Combeferre will be wondering where we are," Clémence spoke, getting to her feet. "Come, let's return to the house."

Éponine watched Clémence walk past and pad carefully down the grassy path along the stream's edge. It was a few heartbeats before she also stood and followed her, drinking in the bubbling pool before her one last time before turning away.


	45. unfair

**45**

The man in purple who had shown them into the house showed them back out. Clémence had flopped into a chair in the conservatory and didn't even bid them goodbye, and the three of them walked in silence until they were completely away from Clémence's home.

It was Éponine who broke the strained silence first. "She wants to see Enjolras," she said, without preamble.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre frowned. "Why would she want to see him?"

"Apparently, he can see the future," Éponine murmured.

Combeferre barked out a laugh, but there was no humour in it. "I have known Enjolras since we were children," he said. "I know almost everything there is to know about him – he cannot see the future!"

"Clémence thinks he can," Éponine said. "And they are _dead states_, Combeferre, if you remember – I could not create Portals when I was alive –"

"That's different," Combeferre said, and then he carried on to say, "Enjolras hasn't mentioned _anything_ to do with this. Clémence must be mistaken."

"I doubt it," Éléonore said. "It is Clémence's power – to be able to see the future, and the past, and the present…She knows all there is to know. If she says Enjolras can see the future…She's telling the truth."

"He's never said anything about it," Combeferre insisted.

"He has – he told me – he told me something," Éponine said, avoiding mentioning exactly _what_ that was. She swallowed, trying not to think about the fact she was staying here for the rest of her life, and how she felt about that. "Anyway, the point is, she wants to see him – talk to him."

"He might not like that," Combeferre warned. "If it is true – and he hasn't mentioned it – then it's not something he feels comfortable talking about, and to tell a complete stranger –"

"I had to talk to her," Éponine interrupted. "There's not much difference between him and I, apart from the fact that he's avoiding _talking_ to any of us about it."

They reached Combeferre's apartment. Éléonore slowly drew to a halt. "I have to get back to work," she said. "Good luck with persuading Enjolras. And Éponine…I hope today was helpful and you found out everything you needed. Remember, I'm still here to talk if you need to."

Éponine nodded at her. "Thank you," she said. She saw Combeferre inch closer to Éléonore and imagined that they probably wanted some privacy; so she turned her back on them and walked up to Combeferre's front door.

She didn't need to knock. It opened before she even reached it, and Enjolras was stood in the doorway. "Courfeyrac said you met with the expert," he said, instead of greeting her.

She brushed past him into the apartment, and she paused for a few moments as she took in the scene before her. Courfeyrac had, at some point, brought Gavroche and Inès over, and he was currently playing chess with Inès. Bahorel and Gavroche were using chess pieces to re-enact some kind of battle on the floor.

"Hello," she said to them, unwinding the shawl from her shoulders and letting it drop onto Gavroche's head. He scowled and snatched it away from his hair, balling it up into his fist.

Courfeyrac looked up and he smiled, very brightly, whilst Bahorel gave a small grunt in greeting before making two chess pieces smack into each other with such force she thought they might break.

"You're back," Courfeyrac sang, waiting for Inès to make her next move.

"What did he tell you?" Enjolras pressed, walking around to stand beside Éponine. Combeferre walked in at that moment, shutting the door behind himself.

"_She_ told me I'm able to – I can control Portals, travel to the living world and travel between different places here in the dead world," Éponine said. "In a bit more detail than that, but most of it was what I already knew, deep down."

Combeferre flopped down onto one of the sofas. "She was certainly an interesting woman," he said.

"She had a beautiful house," Éponine commented. "I've never seen anything like it – especially not here."

"What did she want to talk to you about?" Combeferre said, leaning forwards and bracing his elbows on his knees. "When you went to walk in the gardens?"

"Things," Éponine said, and then she remembered Enjolras, and she stared at him _hard_ because she realised she was a little bit annoyed with him right now. "There are consequences to the things I can do –"

"Addiction?" Combeferre guessed. "That's what Éléonore thought…"

"That, and…" She cleared her throat. "There's a limit on how many times a person can travel to the world of the living, before they get – well, _trapped_ is the word that Clémence used. It means they can't move on – they stay here forever."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Enjolras look down at his feet. She moved forwards and sank down onto the sofa next to Combeferre, and finally looked at Enjolras. "She wants to meet you," she said to him.

"She wants to meet_ Enjolras_?" Courfeyrac said. "Why?"

Enjolras cleared his throat. "Because I'm like Éponine."

She shook her head. "No, you're not."

"I am in the sense I'm not like everyone else in this room," he countered. "The difference is I can…" She'd never seen him lost for words, but she knew he was struggling with what to say next.

"He can see the future," she supplied for him.

There was silence, interrupted only by Enjolras heaving a heavy sigh. Everyone apart from Inès turned to stare at Enjolras, but he avoided their gazes, instead keeping his eyes on the floorboards.

"You've oversimplified it," Enjolras said, voice very quiet. "It's not like that. I have to look people in the eye – and I see flashes – bits and pieces every time. Never a whole picture."

"So you couldn't, say, tell me _my_ future?" Courfeyrac asked. His eyes sparkled and his lips were still stretched into a cheery grin.

"Absolutely not," Enjolras said. "That would be…unfair."

"Is that why you didn't tell me?" Éponine said, forcing the room into silence once more.

"Tell you what?" Courfeyrac's voice was suspicious, and his smile dimmed somewhat.

"I'm never moving on," Éponine murmured. "I'm staying here forever. I'll travel to the world of the living too many times and be trapped."

"I did tell you," Enjolras said. "I just – I didn't explain. I'm sorry, Éponine. I – It's difficult. It's hard _knowing_…" He shook his head, golden curls bouncing, and he raked a hand through his hair shortly afterwards. "I'm sorry if I have upset you, Éponine, but I _did_ tell you and you said you didn't _want_ to leave –"

"I don't," Éponine agreed, but the words felt wrong in her mouth – they felt like a lie, and she bit her lip just after she had spoken. "I mean – The idea of leaving like Fantine…" She glanced towards Inès', who's back had stiffened at the mention of the name. Éponine swallowed. "I don't like _that_. I'm not particularly fond of the idea of being here alone for hundreds of years either."

"You're not on your own," Enjolras said. "You're…There are others with you. You're not by yourself."

He was looking up now, but he was not meeting her eyes. She wondered if that was because he didn't want to see something else in her future, or whether he just felt awkward. But she saw Courfeyrac's head bobbing around out of the corner of her eye and realised he was trying to catch Enjolras' eye.

Éponine swatted a hand in Courfeyrac's direction. "Stop it," she commanded, her voice tired. "If Enjolras doesn't want to tell you about your future, he doesn't have to."

Courfeyrac pouted.

"So are you going to meet this 'expert', then?" Bahorel spoke, pushing the chess pieces aside.

"If you say no, she'll probably just turn up here," Combeferre said. "She strikes me as that sort of woman."

"I want to meet her," Courfeyrac said, his face brightening at the very thought. There was also a touch of determination in his eyes that made Éponine wince internally.

Enjolras raised a questioning eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because she might know if _I_ have some special powers," Courfeyrac said loftily.

"You don't," Enjolras said. "I could tell you that."

"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac scoffed, his voice half a laugh. "Like I believe that! You couldn't tell Éponine about _her_ powers, so how would you know about mine?"

Enjolras made a noise at the back of his throat. "That's not how it works –"

"I'm coming," Courfeyrac said stubbornly. He was almost wriggling around in excitement at the prospect and said, "You can consider me moral support!"

"I'd have Éponine with me," Enjolras pointed out.

"You can consider me _extra_ moral support," Courfeyrac said, with a shrug. "Combeferre, you think I should go, don't you? Bahorel?"

"I don't really care," Bahorel said.

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "In the kindest way possible, neither do I. I don't really have a desire to see Clémence Lefebvre so soon…"

"Clémence Lefebvre?" Enjolras said, frowning. "Isn't she that writer?"

"Yes, she is," Combeferre said. "I think she can potentially be considered every bit as pretentious as you considered her writing."

"It _is_ a very nice house, though," Éponine murmured. "The gardens are beautiful."

"I've always liked gardens," Courfeyrac sighed dreamily.

Combeferre and Enjolras exchanged looks. Éponine, however, kept her eyes on Courfeyrac, who was grinning at her, clearly having decided it was her he needed to win over rather than his friends.

She felt her face heat up under the brightness of his smile, and she turned away from him to look at Enjolras. "I don't think it would _hurt_ to bring Courfeyrac," she said.

Still sat on the floor, Courfeyrac let out a cheer whilst Bahorel, for some reason, groaned and dragged a hand over his face.

"You'll be responsible for him," Enjolras muttered, before walking past them all and disappearing into his room.

"I'm not a child," Courfeyrac objected in a petulant voice, before jumping to his feet and rubbing his hands together. "Now, I must go and choose a truly _splendid_ cravat for tomorrow. It won't do for me to show up wearing an inadequate cravat, not if this house is as grand as you say..."


End file.
